The Mummy: Curse of the Blood Serpent
by JulietBurke007
Summary: An ancient evil has awoken in Egypt. Rick, Evy, Ardeth, Alex, and Jonathan must face the malevolent undead once more. Mummies attack. Dangerous foes surface. Past tragedies are unraveled. Lost in the chaos with a cursed necklace, Irene Coffin teams up with the famed O'Connell clan so that she might live. Can she even survive dealing with the scoundrel who destroyed her career?
1. A Glass of Arak

**1934**

**Valley of the Kings, Egypt**

The sandstorm died as the desert faded into twilight. A shrouded figure stood atop the highest cliff, lingering before a tiny freestanding building. The structure's stone surface was crammed with strange imagery, rows of sideways characters interspaced with jumbling hieroglyphics. Below, the dust settled. The valley was stripped bare now.

"Rise." The shadow reached its hand towards the pink and purple sky.

For an instant, all was still.

Then, the dead awoke. They stumbled out of broken tombs. They surfaced from the dry earth. They raised decaying limbs towards the figure on the hill.

That night, the ancient kings streamed from their place of rest, spilling out into the desert. An army, undead, unreasoning, and awaiting orders.

The shrouded one laughed.

* * *

**Oxfordshire, England**

Evy hadn't slept last night. All the signs were there; hair frazzled, face pale, back hunched. She sipped her tea, eyes practically twitching with fatigue as Rick took a seat across from her at the dining room table.

"What time did you go to bed, honey?" he asked, digging into his plateful of bacon and eggs. Evy laughed bitterly in response. "Up late with research? Or is it just another mummy apocalypse?" Her grim silence surprised him. "Wait… Seriously?"

"Seriously," she murmured.

"Again?" Rick slammed down his fork in disgust. "Mummies _again_? At this point, I'd prefer vampires. Aliens. _Anything else_. A change of pace, you know?"

"Yesterday's front page of the _Evening Standard_." She handed him the newspaper, too sleepy for fully formed sentences. "Read it."

"Mummies _and_ homework?" Rick scanned the headlines. "'Break in at the Cairo Museum of Antiquities.' That can't be good. What'd they take?"

"Well, most of the mummies. And the Enigmatic Book of the Netherworld. An ancient Egyptian funerary text." Evy rubbed her eyelids. "Rick, out of all the priceless treasures in the museum, they took some dead bodies and rows upon rows of hieroglyphics."

"What's the book about, exactly?"

"Ostensibly, the creation and rebirth of the sun," Evy said. "No one knows for sure, really, it's entirely composed of cryptographic illustrations."

"Maybe, just maybe, this time there's a different explanation. Some janitor got greedy. A curator nicked it to pay off his gambling debts."

"Not possible, unless they've employed a group of circus strongmen since I left. The Book of the Netherworld isn't a book in the traditional sense. It's an entire shrine. A small building. It probably weighs a ton. Not exactly portable material for a cat burglar." Evy impulsively swiped the last piece of bacon from Rick's plate. He sulked. "Finish your homework, darling."

Rick read the last portion of article aloud. "'A rogue sandstorm several blocks away from the museum prevented Cairo police from responding to the robbery in a timely fashion. According to the department's Master Sergeant Hatem, a small street market was "completely buried" by the dust, resulting in three deaths and numerous injuries. The unexpected natural disaster appears to have prompted group hysteria in some witnesses. Hatem explained that superstitious locals blamed the disaster on "a robed sorcerer leading a small army of the undead." According to them, the mysterious figure attacked the market and promptly disappeared into the cloud of sand…' Superstitious locals. Yeah, if only." Rick rolled his eyes at the article's condescending tone.

"What's happening?" Alex drifted in from the kitchen, munching on a scone.

"Nothing—" Evy began.

"Mummies," Rick blurted out, earning himself a glare from his wife. "Evy, I don't think it's going to send him into shock. He's already been kidnapped by one mummy."

"Yes, and in light of that you want to embroil him in another potentially dangerous situation involving mummies?"

"I'm not embroiling him, just informing—"

"Imhotep's back?" Alex asked, interrupting the brewing quarrel.

"We're not sure, sweetie," Evy said.

"Why not, though?" Rick muttered. "He's like the boomerang of mummies." He turned to his wife. "So, they've stolen this Book of the Netherworld. What do they want with it? What's their next move?"

"I don't know. Maybe I should call them up and ask them about their evil plans." Evy cracked a smile, which quickly faded. "The Book of the Netherworld was a shrine in Tutankhamen's tomb, which was discovered by my father's archaeological team in 1922. Last night, I reviewed Dad's notes to see if he found any clues as to its meaning. What I found was interesting. He associated the shrine's imagery with the Blood Serpent necklace. He theorized that the necklace might be the key to unlocking the Book's secrets."

"Blood Serpent? That doesn't sound ominous at all," Rick muttered. "What is it?"

"It's a golden _wesekh_ collar that once belonged to Tutankhamen. It gets its name from the large snake-shaped ruby in its center."

"And let me guess," Rick said. "It's missing, right?"

"For quite some time, actually. It's lost. We only have a very detailed account of what it looked like, written and illustrated by a Middle Eastern dignitary visiting the Egyptian court at the time. When the Ottoman Empire conquered Egypt in the sixteenth century, a small, hollow statue of the Mnevis bull was broken in the looting. The Blood Serpent necklace fell out and disappeared again. There have been sightings since then, but none have come to fruition."

"Well, if it's lost to the ages, at least it won't fall into the wrong hands," Alex said.

"Not quite," Evy said. "My sources at the British Museum have informed me that a certain Dr. Boris Hackley is currently hunting for the necklace throughout the Mediterranean. He's from a wealthy family; paid his way through all the top schools. A self-styled archaeologist with zero academic credentials, living off the reputation of his ancestors."

"I see. So, when did your brother change his name?" Rick smirked.

"Trust me, Hackley makes Jonathan sound legitimate. Right now, the man is dropping a fortune looking for this thing."

"At the same time that mummies are attacking Cairo?"

"Odd coincidence, don't you think?"

"So I guess we're bound for Cairo, then?"

"Not yet," Evy said. "I have a few leads in regards to the necklace's location. Right now, Greece is looking like the best one."

"See the Parthenon, fight some mummies." Alex sat down, pouring himself a cup of tea. "Sounds like a promising family vacation."

"Who says that you're coming too?" Rick asked.

"Someone needs to keep you two safe." Alex's demeanor was so casual, he might have been discussing a game of football or a spelling bee. His parents shared a smile.

"Right, then. But if the danger becomes too great, we're taking you straight back home," Evy added. Alex nodded vigorously at the stern tone and unconvincing words. "I'll send Jonathan a telegram too. Ask him to stop larking about Paris and head to the Levant. Another very likely location, in my humble opinion." She noticed Rick's raised eyebrows. "Say what you will about the man, but he has more experience dealing with these sort of crises than most people. This is a serious situation. I'm sure that Jonathan will conduct himself with the utmost professionalism and tact."

* * *

**Jerusalem, Mandatory Palestine**

Irene Coffin burst into the swarming ballroom, a manic smile on her face, a bundle of linen in her hand. _The 15__th__ Annual Bembridge Scholars Archaeological Conference_. All of the important names in archaeology, academia, auctioneering, and museum curating were traipsing about this very room, eating finger food and making awkward small talk. Irene felt like collapsing in an exhausted, happy heap, right there, in the middle of Jerusalem's swankiest hotel. She had finally made it to the big time.

All thanks went to the small parcel she was carrying. This morning, Irene had entered a seedy pawnshop in the ancient city's Armenian Quarter, expecting yet another dead-end. She had exited the store with _the necklace_. It had been coated in dust and earth, forgotten at the bottom of a dusty bin filled with other small curiosities from a 1911 dig near Beersheba. Just lying there, like any other necklace. Neither the 1911 dig team nor the pawnshop owner had recognized that this was no ordinary piece of jewelry. This was the stuff that dreams were made of, the stuff that careers were built on.

Irene unwrapped the linen to peek at her prize, as she had done many times on the cab ride over to the ritzy hotel. A thick golden collar, a _wesekh _necklace, glinted in the soft light of the chandeliers. Glittering on its surface was a ruby snake.

_Enough gloating. Time to find Dr. Hackley and give him the splendid news…_

"I say… is that the Blood Serpent?"

"You know your ancient Egyptian artifacts, sir." Irene whirled around to face a remarkably elderly man. His face was a virtual web of cavernous wrinkles,

"Dr. John Banning." He gave her a rotten smile. "I dabble in archaeology myself."

Irene scanned the large nametag he wore on his worn lapel.

_Secretary of the British Museum's Egyptology Department. Of course he knows his ancient Egyptian artifacts, you overconfident idiot. Stop gawking at his horrible teeth and network. _

"Irene Coffin." Irene reached out to shake Banning's hand, only to have him kiss hers. His lips felt papery on her skin. "It's an honor to meet you, sir. Your work is an inspiration—"

"Yes, yes, commend the ancient archaeologist on his past glory, when you've acquired in a day what my teams and I couldn't find for decades!" Banning mused. "Allow me to escort you to the bar and buy you a celebratory beverage." Her urge to flee the somewhat creepy offer was overwhelmed by her desire to impress the esteemed figure. And God, did she need a strong drink. "So, how did a lovely young thing like you manage to snag the archaeological find of the year?"

"I certainly didn't do it in a day," Irene smiled, tiredly. "Arak, please."

"Exotic. I shall take the same, barkeep."

Two murky glasses slid across the bar.

"Last year, a gentleman visited Featherby's Auction House in London," Irene began, sipping her drink. "Dr. Boris Hackley was his name. He said that he was looking for the Blood Serpent necklace. He offered a sizeable sum of money, but my superiors weren't terribly interested. Featherby's is an auction house, not a private detective agency. We sell ancient art on behalf of our clients; we don't track it down if it's lost. No one was interested in taking Hackley's case."

"But _your_ interest was piqued, wasn't it?" Banning grinned.

"Yes. I was only a clerk, but I'd always had an interest in Egyptology. My sister and her husband did quite a few digs, actually. They sent me so many little artifacts, my flat still looks like a museum storage room." She smiled, eyes lost. "Years ago, I flirted with the idea of pursuing archaeology but that's a game for lucky boys from wealthy families… Sorry."

_Brilliant idea, Irene! Get drunk, ramble on, and insult potential contacts. _

"A refreshingly accurate assessment." Dr. Banning's clear, sunken blue eyes twinkled.

"I—I, anyways, Dr. Hackley was about to leave when I offered to assist him."

"A large risk on your part, I'd image."

"Yes! My superiors basically told me not to come back empty handed." Irene set down her half-empty glass, feeling a familiar tingling in her throat. "I joined Hackley's team with my niece, Emily Gates. Whip smart archaeological student at Cambridge. She wants some fieldwork experience, so she's taking a year off to work alongside me. Bless that girl. Truth be told, she's the only thing that's kept me sane all these months. She's in Cairo right now; I can't wait to tell her the good news! Anyways, we split up, each of us scouring different corners of the Middle East for the Blood Serpent, a necklace lost for thousands of years! But we followed up on every lead, every whisper. We chased this bloody—excuse me—blooming snake across the desert. I searched every pawnshop I could find. I visited as many private collectors as I could. I even organized a few archaeological digs. Nothing."

"What brought you to Palestine?"

"Well, that's where things start to sound like something out of a pulp novel," Irene chuckled, swirling the Arak in its glass. "I heard a rumor that some gentleman—an archaeological rogue, if you will—had embarked on a similar quest in Jerusalem. According to my sources, he was close to locating the necklace. I figured I'd follow the expert's lead. Agony ensued."

"Agony?"

Irene scowled at the memory.

"This so-called gentleman thief and I became locked in a battle for the Blood Serpent. Emily supplied me with a few contacts throughout the Levant; they kept me informed on his progress. The man was a scoundrel, pickpocketing, bribing, and lying his way throughout Jerusalem."

"Didn't you report his actions to the authorities?"

"The _bastard_—sorry—rascal was always in disguise! He was like a ghost, very hard to catch."

"The nerve! Did you ever catch this rapscallion's name?"

"I heard that his name was really John Callahan? Calloway?" Irene scowled. "He used many aliases, the snake. I can't tell you how many times I thought I had the Blood Serpent in my grasp, only to have him ruin everything. When I dug outside of Jaffa, he bribed some of the workers to spy on me and sabotage equipment! A wealthy merchant thought he might own the necklace. When I went to appraise the item, I was turned away at the door because that _bastard_—sorry—idiot had broken in the night before. It turned out to be a copy, thank goodness. But the worst incident of all had to be last week's encounter." The woman's eyes narrowed. "Mr. Carney, or whatever, had the gall to warn me to stop looking for the Blood Serpent."

"Did he threaten you?" Dr. Banning looked scandalized.

"Not really," Irene shook her head. "He sidled next to me at this crowded bar in the Christian quarter, dressed as Bedouin, mind you, and said that the Blood Serpent necklace was cursed. In the wrong hands, it could lead to… what did he say? A mummy apocalypse. What does that even mean? If I find the necklace, a bunch of crusty, mummified remains are going to cause the end of the world? Never have I ever heard such nonsense. Does he think that, because I'm a woman, I'm going to believe his superstitious nonsense and swoon and give up my search? How condescending, how bloody patronizing!"

Irene took a deep breath, blushing. _Control your ranting, Coffin! _Dr. Banning patted her hand and stood up from the bar.

"You've been through much, my dear. Pursuit of treasure can be a cruel mistress." The elderly archaeologist linked arms with Irene, as they began to stroll about ballroom. "But she rewards her persistent lovers." He sighed, wistfully. His blue eyes, which were surprisingly bright, shone. "Might I see the coveted gem, my dear?"

She hesitated for a moment. "Of course." Irene reluctantly unwrapped the linen. Much to her dismay, Dr. Banning snatched up the artifact in his wrinkly hands.

"Brilliant, brilliant," he whispered, hoarsely. "Brilliant girl." _Could she tell him to be careful with the damn thing without sounding like an insolent upstart? _ "Such beauty." The inlaid ruby snake sparkled against the gold, nearly creating the illusion of a slithering serpent. "This necklace was worn by Tutankhamen himself. Just think of it, Miss Coffin." Dr. Banning took a sharp breath. "Thousands of years, this gem was forgotten, tossed about, regarded as a trinket. Until you came along."

"Dr. Banning, you flatter me. But I can't take the all credit; I'm just a member of Dr. Hackley's team. He's somewhere around here. I think I'll just take that back and go surprise him. I'll introduce you—" Irene's smile vanished as the elderly man collapsed to the ballroom, clutching his chest. "Oh my God!" She knelt beside his prone form as a crowd circled about them. "Is there a doctor present?" A chorus of positive responses rang out through the crowd. "A _medical_ doctor?" Silence.

"Clumsy me," Dr. Banning chortled, sitting up. "I'm afraid, Miss Coffin, that your priceless artifact has nothing on me in terms of age." He handed her back the Blood Serpent necklace with a sheepish smile. Intrigued by the words "priceless" and "artifact", the circle around Irene swelled. She felt a nervous prickling in her palms.

_This is your moment. Time to announce your find. The Blood Serpent! A beautifully crafted New Kingdom necklace, steeped in mystery and the occult, presumed lost to the ages. Discovered by the renowned (and single) Irene Coffin, a rising expert in the world of ancient art…_

"Ah, yes! Here come the vultures." Banning winked at her, before turning to the crowd. "My friend, the lovely Irene Coffin, would like to share her amazing discovery with you all!" The old man's gravelly voice boomed about the room. "It's bound to knock the socks off even the stuffiest of you bigwigs." Murmurs of interest rippled through the conference hall. "Tell 'em what you've got, Coffin!" Dr. Banning slipped into the circle, leaving Irene alone in the center of the archaeological mob.

"Thank you, Dr. Banning," Irene said. She spoke slowly, to keep her voice from trembling. She hadn't anticipated declaring her discovery quite like this, to a silent, expectant ballroom full of highly educated specialists. "Terribly sorry for the interruption, everyone! I would just like to make a quick announcement, um, about my recent discovery…" Irene held up the sparkling necklace. The crowd gasped. "After a year's search, I am proud to announce that I have found the Blood Serpent, the beautiful and mysterious Egyptian Middle Kingdom necklace, once thought lost in the sands of time!"

Only then did she notice that the archaeological find of the year had somehow grown a £1 price tag…

* * *

The man scurried through the alleyways, discarding pieces of his face as he went. The whiskers, the fake spectacles, the eyebrows, all peeled off and dropped amongst the stray cat-infested garbage. Lastly, he yanked off the false nose.

"Much better," Jonathan Carnahan said, finally able to breathe properly. He slipped out of the ratty dinner jacket, revealing a crisp linen blazer. From the discarded garment, he retrieved a small silver flask and downed its contents. "Bloody hell, what a night."

The elaborate ruse had paid off, though. He patted the real Blood Serpent necklace in his breast pocket. Several months ago, he had received an urgent telegram from Evy. Something about finding the Blood Serpent before bad people used it to take over the world. The usual nonsense. Jonathan smiled wistfully. Why did the priceless artifacts always turn out to be the apocalyptic ones? The Blood Serpent could buy a lot of booze.

Jonathan retrieved the jewelry from his jacket and examined it in the dim light of the moon. He wasn't one to question his sister's always-impeccable logic, but this necklace seemed particularly innocuous. Then again, so had that damn Bracelet Anubis that nearly killed Alex the year before. In all honesty, he was doing that auction house woman a favor by taking it off her hands.

That auction house woman. Pale, slightly plump, mass of dark curls piled atop her head like a crown. Like one of the classical statues that Featherby's sold, minus the harshness locked in the typical Aphrodite's marble gaze. Her eyes were blue, sad, searching.

Jonathan smirked. Now was not a good time to get mushy over a mark. Still, Irene Coffin was in for a rough night. He couldn't help but feel bad about her situation. On a whim, he'd left her a little note, expressing his condolences. It was stupid, but what else could he do? Jonathan shrugged. She'd get over it eventually.


	2. Tourist Trap

**1934**

**Jerusalem, Mandatory Palestine**

Irene Coffin's career wasn't simply over. It was mauled, incinerated, hacked into microscopic bits and shot at the sun. Truth be told, the Bembridge conference was not the best place to attempt to pass a cheap souvenir as a storied artifact. Irene had tried to explain her predicament and track down the thief, but it was too late. The scoundrel had fled the premises entirely; unnoticed by everyone. He'd set the whole thing up perfectly. All attention was zeroed in on the dolt holding the counterfeit; "Dr. Banning" only had to slip out the door and melt into the balmy twilight.

Later, she discovered that the British Museum did not even employ a Dr. John Banning. The so-called Secretary of the Egyptology Department had been none other than her friend, the art thief. In her delirious excitement (not to mention a bit of Arak-induced haziness), Irene missed the prestidigitation. That bastard had pocketed the Blood Serpent, leaving her with a clever forge that was immediately denounced by the professionals at the convention.

Irene had been labeled as a charlatan, nearly reduced to tears, banned from all future Bembridge conferences, and verbally eviscerated by all of the important names in archaeology, academia, auctioneering, and museum curating. The uproarious laughter of the convention attendees still rang in her ears. For now, she was determined to sulk on the front steps of the hotel till she gained enough composure to hail a cab and arrange travel back to England.

Someone coughed. Irene glanced up. Dr. Hackley, looking debonair in his dark suit and homburg, stood over his dejected employee. His face was a pale mask, but she could see the corners of his mustache twitching. This was going to be bad.

"Hello, Dr. Hackley. Didn't know you were at the conference," she laughed, nervously. "Oh dear."

"You lost the necklace."

"Yes."

"It was stolen by that old man you were talking to?"

"Yes." Irene took a deep, shuddering breath. The pounding in her head threatened to split her skull like a decaying fruit. "I—I… I am so sorry, Dr. Hackley. He seemed legitimate… He was wearing a nametag!"

"Do you see this, Irene?" Dr. Hackley pulled at the lapel of his expensive jacket. His tone was calm, dangerously so. "Do you see this?" She shook her head. "No nametags. _No one was wearing nametags_!" His voice had reached a near screech. "That alone should've raised questions about his legitimacy in your thick mind! You know, that and the completely over the top 'old man' disguise. How drunk were you?"

"I'm sorry." Irene had half a mind to just run away.

"'I'm sorry' is not an answer, you stupid woman!" Dr. Hackley massaged his throbbing temples. "Do you have any idea where he's headed?"

"No."

"Right, then."

"I've alerted the police, they weren't that helpful though. Maybe we could both hail cabs and search some of the seedier neighborhoods, someone might have heard something—"

"You are fired, Miss Coffin." Hackley turned on his heel and walked away. Irene's head sunk onto her knees. That necklace would have brought money, prestige… _money_! And it was in her hands. She was so bloody close to being a success.

That _bastard_.

Before she could stop herself, she was hurling the replacement necklace to the ground, growling as she stomped it to pieces beneath her boot. A few frightened tourists hurried down the stairs past her. Irene took a deep breath.

_Bloody hell, woman, you're thirty-five years old. Pull yourself together._

Irene looked down, suddenly empathizing with the shattered fake on the ground. She noticed a tiny triangle of paper lying amidst the wreckage. Unfolding it, she scowled at the scrawl. _Truly sorry about that, _it read. In the corner of the note was the tiny seal of the Royal Hotel of Tel Aviv. _Big mistake, mate. _Irene crumpled up the paper and shoved it in her bag. She would go to the Royal Hotel of Tel Aviv, find "Dr. Banning", and shove the false sentiment down his throat.

* * *

"Carnahan swiped the Blood Serpent from Coffin this evening. I have intelligence that he's sailing from Jaffa to Limassol tonight."

"I know that. I have my own intelligence."

"The boat's a standard ferry. It's called the _Get Hapi._ If you can't make that one, then I need you to get on the next possible boat to Cyprus."

_Silence_

"He'll be taking it back to his family. That can't happen, do you understand? Evelyn O'Connell is an expert Egyptologist. She's capable of destroying the necklace's power. You need to kill him before this becomes a problem."

_Silence_.

"Well? Say something, damnit! Can you get Carnahan or not?"

The assassin smiled.

"I won't make the ferry from Jaffa tonight."

"God damnit! I pay you to assassinate people, not to sit around on your arse!"

"I don't need to make that boat," the assassin mused. "I've already contacted friends in Cyprus. They're waiting to greet Mr. Carnahan the moment he steps off that boat."

"Friends? What friends?"

"Excitable friends, sir. A tiny Cyprian Set cult. They've been attempting to resurrect Imhotep from the dead ever since the O'Connells defeated him in Ahm Shere last year."

"A bunch of pathetic quacks, you mean."

"They're trying hard, sir," the assassin chuckled. "I promise you they'll retrieve the Blood Serpent. They've no love for Evy Carnahan's brother, slayer of Anck Su Namun. And I may have just let it slip that human sacrifice is a surefire way of resurrecting their beloved mummy."

* * *

**Limassol, Cyprus**

Jonathan strolled across the dock, his jacket fluttering in the warm Mediterranean breeze. It was a muggy afternoon in Cyprus. The streets of Limassol seemed sleepy, subdued. The ferry had arrived ahead of schedule; the O'Connells were not due to pick Jonathan up for some time. He did not have the patience to shuffle about waiting in a place that reeked so strongly of boat oil, fish, and overripe fruit. Simply too odiferous for his hung over sensibilities.

The only issue was navigating around the unfamiliar port city. Jonathan paced faster, looking for a potential guide. _Hurry up, man, the quicker you get to the hotel, the quicker you get to the hotel bar._ Distracted, he did not notice the cluster of shadows trailing his every move.

"_Stamatíste_!"

Jonathan whirled around to witness a policeman chasing off several street urchins. The children easily outpaced the slightly overweight lawman, disappearing down alleyways and behind shipping crates.

"Check your pockets, sir," the officer ordered. Jonathan obliged.

"They've got my wallet…" That only contained fake identification and a five-pound note. Jonathan didn't breathe till his fingers brushed against the necklace in his breast pocket. "No harm done, Officer."

"I will take you to the station. You can file a report."

"That won't be necessary, thank you."

"Are you sure you don't need assistance?" The policeman stared at the tourist with a peculiar blend of pity and disdain.

"Actually, could you direct me to the Mediterranean View Hotel, if it's not too much of a bother?"

"Certainly. My brother happens to be the owner." Pleased with this fortuitous happenstance, Jonathan followed the officer down the road, which grew more deserted as they moved away from the sea. "So, what brings you to Limassol? Business or pleasure?"

"Business."

"You don't dress like a shipping boss. What's your game, wine?"

"If only," Jonathan smiled. "No, I'm…" He was too hung over for a decent cover story. "I'm here on family business."

"Ah. I see." The policeman stopped and scrutinized Jonathan's face. "Pardon my nosiness, but do you have a sister married to a American? Rick?" He snapped his fingers. "They have a small golden-haired boy."

"Why, yes!" Jonathan explained, surprised. _Limassol must be one of those places where everyone knows everyone._

"We don't get many families touring Limassol, it's mostly couples. Lovely people, your relatives. I've run into them several times while visiting my brother. In fact, your sister frequents this shop right here. She might even be there now."

Jonathan saw that the shop in question was an antique art store. _That's my Evy. _Always trying to uncover hidden gems, poking and prodding around grubby collectibles. Jonathan swung into the store, half-expecting to encounter Evy pouring over a chipped Greek vase.

What he found instead was a rather odd scene. Three men and one woman dressed in linen robes and gold headbands of varying fanciness. He would have dismissed it as a tackily repetitive costume party were they not all armed with blades and guns. And glaring at him.

"Bloody hell?" He stumbled forward, shoved from behind by the policeman. Two of the men seized his arms. Smiling coyly, the woman began to search his pockets.

"What's the meaning of this?"

"This, archaeologist?" The officer removed his cap and replaced it with a golden helmet in the shape of a jackal's head. "This is your welcoming party."

"Archaeologist? I don't know what you're talking about!" Jonathan laughed, desperately. "Oh dear, you lot are in for an embarrassment! You've got the wrong man! My name's Norton! I sell… real estate!"

The woman cried out, excitedly pulling the Blood Serpent from his jacket pocket. She handed it to the fake policeman, who examined it carefully.

"I think not, Mr. Carnahan." He snapped his fingers. "Take him downstairs. We'd best get to work. Do not fear, Mr. Carnahan. We only wish to reunite you with an old friend."

* * *

"Is this your friend?" The Cypriot child passed Irene a British passport. Coffin flipped through and glanced at the picture. A man with thin features and dark hair stared back. Jack Calloway was the name. Pale eyes, like the art thief.

"Have you got anything else?" Irene nonchalantly fanned herself with a ten-pound note. Smiling mischievously at the bribe, the little girl handed over an entire wallet. All of the money was gone, naturally, but it was brimming with false identification. _Carlton. Carnegie. Carver. _She picked through till she found a particular nametag. _Dr. John Banning. Secretary of the British Museum's Egyptology Department. _"Yes!" She handed the child the ten-pound note. "Thank you, dear. Did you happen to see where this man went?"

"I may have." The child frowned. "But I am very poor. That makes it hard to tell, sometimes."

"We're very much alike in that respect, dear," Irene snapped. "I don't have any money left to give you!"

The girl stared at her, intently.

"I like your hat."

Scowling, Irene ripped off her navy sunhat and placed it on the pickpocket's head. "Brilliant." She could already feel her dark hair starting to frizz. "In no time, I'll look like a sunburnt lion."

"There's no time like the present." The little thief smirked. "Your friend went into that shop over there. He never left."

Thanking the child, Irene hurried down the street. All her troubles aside, she could not wait for the upcoming confrontation. She'd take back the Blood Serpent, alert the authorities, and have her job back in a snap. On the ferry ride over, Irene had even rehearsed all the insults she'd hurl at her adversary.

She was ready for anything, as evinced by the large, sheathed knife currently strapped to her belt. Got it half price in a Syrian market several months ago. God help her, she hadn't the first clue about combat, but a nice shiny blade would at least make her _look_ intimidating if things got rough.

Yes, the former auction house clerk was ready for anything.

In the wake of the Bembridge conference fiasco, she had gone into full-on detective mode. The next morning, she'd rushed into the lobby of the Royal Hotel of Tel Aviv, impersonating a confused tourist. Did it count as impersonating if she was just evoking the bewilderment she felt most of the time? _A confused tourist of life, that's what you are, Irene Coffin._

After making zero progress interviewing a grumpy bellhop, Irene turned her attention to the eavesdropping receptionist. With puffy red eyes and trembling voice, Irene had enthralled the curious young woman with her story of woe and treachery. You see; her new boyfriend John Banning had disappeared the night before, abandoning her at a swanky jazz club sans money, hotel key, or consciousness. In her intoxicated state, it had taken her all night to blunder back to his hotel. Could she please be allowed up to his room to let him know that she was safe? He was probably frantic with worry.

With wide, sympathetic eyes, the girl behind the desk had let Irene down easy. John Banning was never a guest at the Royal Hotel. However, a somewhat drunk gentleman named Jon had checked out in the wee hours of the morning. He had been in a celebratory mood, knocking over a vase in the lobby while singing at the top of his lungs about his imminent journey to Limassol. Time to move on from the lout; a nice girl like Irene was too good for him anyhow. Wiping away her false tears, Irene had thanked the woman. Then, with gleeful purpose, she booked it towards the Port of Jaffa to catch a ferry for Cyprus.

At this rate, she could probably compete with the likes of Dashiell Hammett's lovable, alcoholic sleuths._ All the grit of Sam Spade. All the sophistication of Nick and Nora Charles. Chief Inspector Irene Coffin. Finder of stolen Egyptian artifacts._

Irene's daydreaming ceased only when she reached the business that the pickpocket had pointed out. An odd assortment of furniture and ornaments sat in the dusty, dark windows. An antique shop. She tried the door. A locked antique shop. There _had_ to be another way in. Irene snuck around the back alleyway. The back door was practically rotted; it gave way with the slightest of kicks.

Irene hesitated in the shattered doorway, consumed by self-doubt.

_What if that taxing brat had lied? What if the owner had a shotgun? What if the thief was a violent man?_

After a moment, she grinned. This was rock bottom. There was nothing to lose and everything to gain by trying to reclaim the necklace. Irene plunged into the darkness beyond the door.

* * *

Evy paced around, eyes fixed on the empty horizon. The Englishwoman looked rather out of place in the dockyard, a lovely vision in her pale green dress and white sun hat. The O'Connells had just arrived in Limassol themselves. After a wearying journey across the Mediterranean, she just wanted to get to the hotel, curl up on her bed, and lose consciousness. That couldn't happen yet because her brother's ferry was late. The schedule had said seven o'clock, hadn't it? She knew she was being irrational, but she couldn't help but begin to subconsciously blame Jonathan for the delay.

"Okay, this is going to be a fastball, get ready!" Evy turned to see her husband tossing a baseball back and forth with Alex. The thought of cautioning them crossed her mind and immediately vanished. At least's Rick's dreadful American sport would help them past the time. "Catch!" The baseball sailed through the air, disappearing somewhere behind a pile of crates. Evy winced, hearing glass shatter. Rick shot her an apologetic glance, handing Alex some money. "Sorry, I'm a bit rusty. Let's go pay some damages, buddy."

Evy rolled her eyes. When Alex and Rick returned a few moments later, they wore the same squinting expression of concern. Lord, they were looking more and more alike every day.

"Mum, what was Uncle Jon's ferry called?" Alex asked.

"The _Get Hapi_, I think."

"Really?" Alex grinned. "A pun on the Egyptian river god?"

"Good show, Alex!" Evy beamed at her little Egyptologist. She was fiercely proud that Alex had inherited her own obsession with Egypt. Just as her father, Howard, had been ecstatic over her childhood fascination with the ancient civilization. "Its owner must be Egyptian. It runs from Jaffa to here, then from here to Cairo."

"Well, the owner's definitely an Egyptian," Rick said. "Very nice man. I just paid him thirty pounds to fix the window we broke."

"Wait, Jonathan's ferry is already here?"

"Yep." Rick looked furious. "Why didn't he just wait for us? Or come straight to the hotel?"

"Knowing him?" Evy said, bitterly. "He's probably stumbling out of some bar right now, completely smashed."

* * *

Jonathan Carnahan never realized that being a human sacrifice could be so incredibly dull. Things had dragged on for some time. Candles had to be lit. Knives had to be sharpened. He was pretty certain that a snack break had occurred at some point. Jonathan was almost too bored to even be frightened. It was unprofessional, that's what it was. Bloody amateurs.

To their credit, his captors had put a lot of effort into the presentation. There were glinting knives, ominous chants, and some interesting masks. The basement of the quaint Cyprian art store was decorated with palm trees, a few decent murals depicting various deities, and some rather fake-looking prop sarcophagi. Presently, the star of the show, Jonathan, was immobilized on a raised central altar, wrapped up like a mummy in keeping with the ceremony's Egyptian vibe.

"Listen, I'm a sucker for theatrics and all," he called over to his former policeman guide. "But wouldn't it be more prudent to call my family at this point?" _If they were even there to pick up the phone and not, say, fighting ancient evils in a remote desert somewhere._ "I'm ridiculously wealthy, you know." _Lies_. "Ransom me off, make some money, and use it to fund, I don't know, a refurnished sacrificial chamber or a nice field trip to the pyramids."

"Your stolen riches cannot save you now, Carnahan. You and your family are sworn enemies to our cause. You should rejoice. Your worthless life will be sacrificed in a glorious ceremony to resurrect the High Priest Imhotep."

"Imhotep?" Jonathan couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Seriously? Come now, man. That's just clichéd."

"Clichéd? He is a _God_." The masked priest sounded somewhat miffed.

"He's a long dead bald chap who's scared of cats. Why on earth are you bloody cults so keen on resurrecting the man? What, do you think he's going to come back and take you all out for a pint? The last time I had the misfortune of seeing him, he got ditched by his girlfriend and _wanted_ to die. You wouldn't be doing him a favor by bringing him back—" Bandages were wound over his mouth. _Brilliant. There goes the last line of defense._ Only Jonathan's panicked eyes were left uncovered.

"Enough of your lies, fool," the priest growled. "Everyone ready? Just like we practiced!" The other cult members began reciting spells in some dead language, gathering in a chorus beneath the altar. The fake officer, apparently the cult's leader, began to work. "O Set, Holy Usurper, Lord of Chaos, we present this sacrifice in your honor. In exchange, we pray that you return Imhotep from the underworld, so that he might remold the world into a glorious new kingdom!"

Were Jonathan able to speak, he would have told the unconvincing mystic to go ahead and stab him already, lest he have to sit through the remainder of the rambling speech.

Or he might have cried and begged for his life. It was a toss up.

The complex, eerie chanting was reaching its climax. The language wasn't ancient Egyptian, that much Jonathan was certain. Sounded more like a blend of Latin and Modern Greek. This cult was many things; legitimate was not one of them. Jonathan was confident that his sacrifice would accomplish one thing: his own death. Not really a comforting thought, but at least his murder wouldn't also lead to Imhotep's resurrection. Jonathan Carnahan would not die in vain! Or, rather, he _would_ die in vain. But maybe that was a good thing in this case!

The incantation ceased.

The sacrifice shut his eyes. He didn't want to see the glint of the knife before it plunged into his chest. He thought of Evy, Alex, Rick, his late parents, happy memories…

"Stop it, stop it!" a woman shrieked. Jonathan eyes snapped open. A cry of alarm rippled through the ceremonial chamber. "What the hell is going on here?" Who was his defender? Had the O'Connells arrived? Were policemen swooping in to save him? Was there widespread dissent amongst the non-murderous cult members? The looming high priest, or whatever the hell his title was supposed to be, looked rather put out. "Don't stab him!" The lady's voice sounded vaguely familiar. "Oh my God, _what kind of antique shop is this_?"


	3. Sacrifices

**1922**

**Valley of the Kings, Egypt **

_She wasn't supposed to wander off; Mum had made that exceptionally clear. Then again, she wasn't supposed to even be there in the first place. Everyone said that a dig was no proper place for a young lady. So she resolved to make herself as inconspicuous and unnoticed as possible. _

_She had expected Egypt to be a mesmerizing land of adventure. She had dreamed of tunneling through the Pyramids, climbing the Sphinx, and seeing mummies firsthand. What she got instead was a crowded, dusty camp of stuffy academics, groveling grad students, and exhausted laborers. And a very unfashionable tan. She burned so easily. Such a disappointing vacation. She hadn't even seen a mummy yet._

_ Today, she hoped to change that._

* * *

**1934**

**Limassol, Cyprus**

Irene blinked a few times, doubting her own vision. Alas, the oddity before her was no phantasmal illusion. The bundle of bandages and the central altar were definitely a human being and a stack of linen-covered hope chests, respectively. In her infinite good luck, she had managed to stumble upon an actual human sacrifice. She began to backtrack towards the stairs, only to be blocked off by two of the stony faced male members of the cult.

_Spiffing. _

She was to be murdered in a dingy antique art shop basement by a bunch of dolts masquerading as Cleopatra. Fate had presented Irene with a demise that was equal parts embarrassing and terrifying.

The art thief was probably responsible. He had found a means of dispatching his pursuer with his idea of sick joke. Or maybe there was something to that curse. Either way, being robbed of a priceless necklace by an artificially old man wasn't going to be the weirdest thing to happen to her this week. A horrifying thought.

"Insolent woman!" spat the man hovering over the altar. He lowered his knife. "How dare you interrupt the Order of Set's resurrection of the sacred Imhotep?"

_The Resurrection of the Sacred Imhotep. _Could the Order of Set be a theatre company? Could this be a new play? Irene glanced about the dark space, praying to see an audience fuming at the interruption. She found none. This was for real. Time for decisions. Irene could throw herself on the floor and beg for mercy. That was more than a bit pathetic. She could try to fight her way back up the stairs; she did have a knife, after all. A bargain price knife that she didn't feel comfortable carrying around, let alone using. By the time she was done unsheathing it, she'd probably be dead.

There was only one thing to do. She could start yapping and yammering till she said the right thing to get herself out of this situation.

In the end, it wasn't as much a choice as a reflex.

"Evening. Chief Inspector Coffin, here," she said, trying her best to sound gruff. "I'm on loan from Scotland Yard, helping the local force deal with incidents of… well... whatever you call this." She gestured at the proceedings before her. "I'm going to need everyone to stop what they're doing, drop the knives, and back up against this wall. I've got back up units outside waiting to shoot this building to bits if I don't emerge unharmed in five minutes. I wanted to give you lot the chance to surrender peacefully. If any of you cooperate, I'm sure I can arrange a plea deal in your favor."

The nonsensical orders seemed to be having an effect on four of the cult members. They glanced up at the high priest for guidance.

"She's lying," he snarled. "She's that Irene Coffin person, she's come for the Blood Serpent necklace. The telegram said to kill her too."

Oops. She should have probably expected to be expected.

"How dare you, sir. I am an officer of the law." Her voice became choked, as it did whenever she was caught lying. "Don't listen to this man." The four cult members began to surround her, looking positively murderous. Maybe it was time to change approaches. "Okay, fine, you've got me. Look now. I'm sorry for interrupting your ceremony." One of the knife-wielding men lunged at her; she darted out of reach. In her panic, Irene continued to babble as she was chased around the room. "I know it was rude of me. I'm just here to shop for trinkets. Just some nice Cyprian paintings for my flat, you know, to support the local art scene! And I didn't understand any of that chanting. _Please don't kill me_!"

* * *

As his parents argued over how to solve _The_ _Case of the Missing (and Potentially Hammered) Uncle_, Alex retreated closer to the dock's edge. This trip had sounded more fun than it was turning out to be. The boy tossed his baseball towards the pale slip of moon. Sometimes, he felt as if he weren't supposed to be there, just another piece of luggage for his parents to drag around and protect from thieves and check into hotels. Gravity captured the sphere and hurled it back to him. He wanted to help his parents, but it seemed like the only way to do that was to fade into the background and play catch with the sky.

Lost in thought, Alex miscalculated the ball's velocity. It dropped to the ground. Before he could scoop it up, it had absconded down a small slope, into an alley. Alex chased after it till a shadow moved before him, snatching the baseball. Before he could flee in terror, he saw that it was a young girl, about his age, donning a plain dress and an oversized navy sunhat. Not someone that any self-respecting boy his age could run screaming from.

She said something that he did not understand.

"Sorry. I don't speak Greek." He was learning to read Ancient Greek, but that was neither here nor there.

"I just said, 'Another tourist?'" She smiled, tossing him the ball.

"Guilty as charged," he told her, throwing it back. Finally, someone to play catch with.

"Where are you from?"

"My mum's British, dad's American." It was probably best not to give out too much personal information to anyone lurking in an alley, but Alex felt as if he hadn't spoken to a peer in ages. "I sort of live all over the place. You?"

"I have never left Cyprus."

"Your English is fantastic."

"Thank you. It puts, as they say, the bread on the table. Many Westerners visit Limassol. I can beg. I can guide. I can charm."

"What's your name?"

"Phoebe. What's yours?"

"Alex."

"So, your parents are taking you on a Mediterranean tour?"

"Well, sort of," he said. "They're archaeologists, so we're always running about this part of the world for one reason or another."

"Is there buried treasure in Limassol?" The girl smiled.

"I don't think so." Alex laughed. "We're just here to meet my currently AWOL uncle." The corners of Phoebe's grin twitched downwards. "We can't find him, so my parents are over there losing their minds—" As if on cue, Alex's name was shouted across the docks. He sighed. "I'd better be off, then. It was nice talking to you."

"You as well." She tossed him the ball.

"You can have it," Alex said, handing it back. He didn't dare tell his father, but he rather preferred the strategic challenges of cricket to the slow and steady mundaneness of baseball. "I have a feeling that I won't be playing much catch on this trip."

"Thank you," the girl nodded. She opened her mouth and closed it, hesitantly. Alex waved and turned away. "Wait!" The boy froze. Taking a deep breath, Phoebe plowed on. "Your uncle, is he British too?"

"Yes. Have you seen him?"

"Skinny? Dark hair? Large forehead?"

"That definitely could be Uncle Jon."

"You might want to tell your parents to call the police."

"What? Why? Is he in trouble?"

"Do you see that antique shop over there? Just down the road?" She pointed at a decaying and decrepit storefront. "My grandma says never to go in there, because the owners worship a devil. She is crazy, but today… today, I saw a man go in there with someone dressed as a police officer. I am sure that he was not a policeman; I think he was the owner of the store. Later on, a very nervous lady went in too." By now, her voice was hardly more than a whisper. "No one has ever come back out."

* * *

"Hurry up and get her!" The high priest looked and sounded like a man about to have a heart attack. Were he not in mortal danger, Jonathan might have found the auction house woman's disruption of the ritual humorous, farcical even. No time to laugh now, though. With the tiny cult distracted by Irene's frantic jog about the basement, he concentrated on wriggling free. "Imhotep languishes in the afterlife, yearning to begin his glorious new reign!"

"No need to get me, just an oblivious British tourist, passing through!" Irene continued to dodge the sluggish cult members. She weaved around, knocking over palm trees, hurling cardboard sarcophagi at her pursuers. "I'll let myself out!"

"You can never leave, you stupid wench!" The high priest's face had turned a bright shade of red.

"Okay, you're rather rude, aren't you?" Finally backed into a corner, Irene snatched a tall candelabrum and waved it about like a staff. "Watch out! Come any closer and you might just get singed!"

The cult members seemed to take this threat somewhat seriously, backing away.

"Bah! Enough of this!" the high priest barked. "On with the ceremony!"

"If you kill that person, I'll set this whole place on fire," Irene said, fiercely. Ignoring the threat, the priest raised a knife over Jonathan. "Fine, then! Have it your way." Irene plucked the flickering candles from their holder and tossed them about the room. Each flame quivered and died upon hitting the floor. "Damn."

The woman cult member leapt at her, yanking the candelabrum from her grasp. Jonathan rolled his eyes. Why couldn't a less inept person have interrupted his murder?

"Sorry, are we interrupting something?" Rick's voice boomed throughout the basement. Jonathan craned his neck to see Rick and Evy descending the stairs, looking like a pair of exceptionally battle-ready tourists. He sighed with relief. _That's more like it. _

"Nice to see you, Jonathan," Rick called. "Looks like you're wrapped up in a project." Jonathan could only roll his eyes at his unfunny brother-in-law.

In the meantime, the cult members had forgotten about Irene in the corner, rushing at the O'Connells all at once. Evy kicked one of the attackers in the stomach, sending him crashing into a palm tree. Rick simply blasted his shotgun in the air.

"Guns." He gestured at his heavily armed wife and himself. "Knives." He pointed at the cult members. "Here's a hint. This does not end well for you. Drop the knives." Four of the cult members complied.

"Certainly!" the high priest sneered. He brought his blade down swiftly. Evy leapt up, shoving the man away before he could stab her brother. The high priest fell to the ground with a heavy thud. A small linen-wrapped bundle flew from his sleeve, unnoticed by all but Irene. She crawled towards the small parcel, unwrapping it slightly. Gold and ruby glinted at her. The Blood Serpent!

"You're lucky we're related," Evy said, cutting the bandages restraining Jonathan. He sprung off the altar, shaking out his tired limbs. "Are you alright?"

"Quite, quite," he nodded, "Actually, both my legs fell asleep. And I've a terrible headache. That chanting got rather annoying."

Evy threw her arms around him. Equally parts embarrassed and grateful, Jonathan hugged his little sister back.

"Thanks, Old Mum."

"You've got to be more careful."

"Why should I be, when I've got you?"

Two policemen stormed into the basement, followed closely by Alex. The officers set about herding the cult outside, into an awaiting police wagon. Alex immediately ran to his uncle.

"Uncle Jon!"

"Alex!" Jonathan hugged his nephew. "Arriving just in time, with the cavalry." He hadn't seen Alex in months. The boy was getting exponentially taller. At this rate, Alex would soon be towering above him and Rick.

"So, have you got the Blood Serpent?" Alex asked.

"I don't, but that gentleman does." Jonathan nodded at the livid high priest. A search of the prisoner's person turned up nothing. The floor around the altar was combed. Even the waste bin in the corner was dug through. Nothing.

"Okay, where's the necklace, bud?" Rick demanded, glaring at the high priest.

"Maybe you should ask your friend Coffin," the Set worshipper spat, before being led away by the officers.

"Coffin?" Evy frowned. "Who on earth's that, Jonathan?"

Her brother covered his face with his hands.

"Bloody hell…"

* * *

Irene sprinted down dark streets, the Blood Serpent squeezed in her hand.

She could barely repress her jubilant laughter. Such a rollercoaster of a day. Irene felt somewhat bad about leaving the scene of a crime like that. She'd never even thanked her rescuers, or checked to see whether that mummified person was alive or not. But to stick around would have meant risking her prize. She was not willing to part with the Blood Serpent again, at least not till she reached Dr. Hackley.

The buttery light streaming from the hotel's windows beckoned her. It was high time for a celebratory glass of wine and a good night's rest. In the morning, she would set off for England to reclaim her job and her reputation.

* * *

"Please," the police officer said, speaking Greek. His hands, raised above the steering wheel, were trembling. "Please. My two little girls—I'm all they have left."

The assassin stared at the young man. The carjacking had been so easy. Scramble out of an alleyway crying for help, climb in, shoot the older cop in the passenger seat, and force the driver to swerve into a large vacant lot. _Leave no loose ends._

"Please—"

The assassin pulled the trigger again. This one was very young. Still easy. He reloaded the gun. Then, wiping the splatter from his face, he walked around and opened the back of the police wagon.

The Set cult members spilled out, looking dazed and excited.

"My friend!" The cult leader's eyes were red, presumably from weeping. "The ceremony to resurrect our beloved Imhotep was interrupted—"

"Where is the Blood Serpent necklace?"

"That vicious wench, the Coffin woman, stole it from me after the O'Connells burst into!"

"Is Coffin with the O'Connells?"

"No! She ran off without them. Before the police showed up."

"Good." _Limassol Towers. Room 23. Or the hotel's bar._ "I know where she is, then."

"Let us help you find the Coffin woman. The Order of Set is at your service, my friend."

"Actually, you've already served your purpose."

Five shots. Five dead charlatans in a vacant Limassol lot. They didn't even have time to scream.

_Leave no loose ends._

* * *

Feeling particularly adventurous after a few glasses of Cyprian wine, Irene gingerly removed the Blood Serpent from its wrappings. Lying on her lumpy hotel bed, she admired the jewelry. She'd found the bloody thing _twice_, she sure as hell deserved to try it on at least once. She snapped it around her neck and ran to the mirror. Now she looked fit to join that silly cult she had just encountered. This struck Irene as particularly hilarious; she flopped back down on the bed, practically snorting with laughter.

God, she was in a good mood.

Humming a jaunty tune, Irene suddenly got up and began to sashay around the room. Before she knew it she was in a swirling frenzy. She never went to dance halls back at home. She was too self-conscious to enjoy dancing, and no blokes ever bothered asked her. But all alone in this cramped Cyprus hotel room, she bounced on the bed and leapt across the floor, tipsy and overjoyed by her reclaimed treasure.

The celebration was dampened, somewhat, when her outstretched arm knocked a bottle of wine from the desk. Muttering to herself, Irene knelt to pick up the shards. Her vision was still hazy from the alcohol, so this proved to be a difficult undertaking. Through it all, the woman managed to slice a palm on the glass.

Bleeding, cursing, and thoroughly furious with herself, Irene tottered off to the bathroom to assess the damage. It appeared to be a clean cut. As she rinsed it in the sink. Irene scowled at her reflection in the mirror_._ Even her triumphs were pitiful, in their own way. Irene wrapped the wound in a towel. As Irene bandaged the wound, a droplet of blood slipped from her hand. It splashed onto the ruby snake, which began to glow. Irene saw this strange phenomenon in the mirror.

_What was in that wine? _

Irene's throat tightened, she began to choke. The necklace seemed to be contracting, strangling her. She attempted to unfasten it, but the clasp was gone. Desperate, she tried to yank it off. The necklace itself seemed to have vanished. She could still see it in the mirror, but she could no longer feel the metal. She could no longer feel anything…

* * *

**1323**

**Thebes, Egypt **

_The Pharaoh stood alone in his darkened chamber. Lamps flickered on the ground. Sweat dripped from his temple, his eyes were squeezed shut in concentration. Papyri lay strewn about the floor. He was wearing plain garments, stripped of all jewels aside from a thick golden necklace. A ruby snake in the center of the band began to shimmer with unnatural brightness. _

_ "Ancient serpent. Father of darkness. Apep." He unsheathed a blade. "I summon thee." _

_ The Pharaoh slit his palm, smearing the blood onto the ruby. Its glint grew blinding, then ceased altogether. The ruler squinted. Had the spell not worked? He had performed all of the rituals, made all the sacrifices needed to summon a god. Had he failed yet again? _

_ The lamps were extinguished, suddenly. The residual plumes of smoke twisted together in a writhing column of darkness. It began to circle around the startled Pharaoh._

_ "Your grace." The voice spoke in his tongue, but it was not human. It was dead, hollow, like groaning wind in a sandstorm. "Are you not Pharaoh, ruler and god of the greatest land beneath the sun?"_

"_I am," the young man said, struggling to keep his tone even and unshaken._

"_Then why have you summoned me, a mere lowly serpent?"_

"_My father abandoned the true gods. Throughout my reign, I have fought to reinstate them. I have been nothing but a good servant, requesting little in return for my loyalty. Yet, they slight me and ignore my prayers."_

_"Perhaps I might please my Pharaoh. What are your prayers?" _

"_Crush my enemies in your coils. Cure my affliction. Grant me strong sons. Stop my advisors from whispering behind my back."_

"_And what shall I receive in return?"_

"_I shall dedicate my life to you."_

_"As you wish, my lord." __A loud hiss rang out through the chamber. The smoke began pouring into the Pharaoh's mouth. Choking, he fell back as the mass slithered down his throat. The young man lay still. All was quiet._

_Then, Tutankhamen rose, blinking. For a moment, his pupils were black slits, like a snake's. _


	4. Room Service

**1934**

**Limassol, Cyprus**

Her tense and twisted back ached. These hotel mattresses were truly garbage; she might have been better off sleeping on the ground. Irene opened her eyes. _Oh dear._ She was, in fact, lying on the bathroom floor. Sitting up, Irene noticed the nearby puddle of spilt wine and shattered glass. Had she rolled over in her sleep, she might have ended up with one gruesome makeover. Irene groaned, positively disgusted. How much had she even had to drink? Sure, the Blood Serpent was an exciting find and all, but that was no reason to behave like a complete fool. She reached back to unfasten the necklace.

It was gone.

Irene leapt up in a panic, eyes locking with those of her bedraggled reflection. She sputtered at what she saw in the mirror. Rather than a golden collar, a twining, intricate image of a serpent coiled around her neck.

She covered her eyes with her hands. Hummed a soothing tune to calm down. Scrutinized the mirror again. No change. The mysterious, swirling design upon her skin did not vanish.

"I look like a bloody sailor!" Irene wailed. Had the art thief drugged her, swiped the Blood Serpent, and then branded her with an awful tattoo to serve as an eternal reminder of her greatest failure?

She touched the tattoo. The serpent shivered. Just like that, as if responding to her touch.

Irene screamed. Then, just to make certain, she poked it once more. Impossibly, the snake wobbled again, its scales shimmering. Irene thought of shrieking again but decided against it. She shook her head, determined to snap out of whatever nightmarish hallucinogenic episode she was currently experiencing.

Someone rapped on the door.

"Not now!" she blurted out.

The knocking persisted.

"Please, Miss Coffin, your niece is waiting for you in the lobby!"

"Bloody hell." _Emily had tracked her to Cyprus? _It made sense. Since childhood, Emily was constantly worrying about her perpetually frazzled aunt, and Irene hadn't been good about maintaining contact with her niece over the past few days.

Sighing, the disheveled woman slipped a frayed emerald dressing gown over her nightie. She dug through her luggage, eventually locating a garish silk scarf to wrap about her inexplicably disfigured neck. Irene grabbed her purse. She considered sprucing up her tired face with a bit of makeup, and decided against it. At this point, she didn't give a damn about traipsing around in public looking like death warmed over. What did she think, that she was going to run into a potential suitor in the lobby of a second-rate Limassol hotel? She opened the door. "Hello—"

A fist lashed out to return her greetings.

* * *

Evy did not consider herself a natural thief. Rick had a criminal background and Jonathan was the family pilferer. She would have preferred to remain a pillar of honesty for Alex's sake, but the Blood Serpent was too important, too dangerous to leave in the hands of an amateur, well intentioned or otherwise.

Something was rotten in Egypt. There were the reports of covert digs and mysterious sandstorms. There was her late father's research, tying the ruby necklace to the currently missing Book of the Netherworld. Evy O'Connell the scholar and mother may have dismissed the signs, but Nefertiri had been awakened by the Bracelet of Anubis fiasco, and that warrior queen wasn't about to just drift back to sleep. She felt a certain sense of stewardship; Evy was now a guardian against the menace of the ancient undead.

Rick was arranging transport outside. Together, they were scouring each and every hotel in the city, searching for the Coffin woman. They were about halfway done with the task that would likely take all night. Alex and his uncle were awaiting them on the ferry sailing for Cairo in the morning. After his literal close shave with the Set cult, Jonathan seemed eager to accept the babysitting gig. If all went well, the family would sail for Cairo in the morning. Egypt held the answer to the question of what to do with the Blood Serpent.

First, they had to steal the necklace. Evy couldn't help but feel apprehensive. It was all beginning to feel like some implausible heist straight out of a cheesy gangster film. So far, none of the hotels had yielded a lead to Coffin's location.

Presently, Evy was leaning over the hotel desk at Limassol Towers, chattering away with the irritated hotel manager. The mustachioed fellow looked about ready to hurl the newspaper he was trying to discretely read at the blabbermouth tourist. Evy wanted to establish a longwinded backstory before asking for Coffin's room number. The incessant rambling would, if anything, make the irate man eager to be rid of her.

"You know, it's just like my sister Irene to keep me waiting. She's always doing this to me, since childhood! A whole hour late to my wedding. The maid of honor late to her only sister's wedding! Can you imagine? Today, she told me that she'd meet me outside this hotel after a nap. I'm afraid she's yet to awaken from her nap! That's just like Irene Coffin! You wouldn't mind if I went up to her room and fetched her, would you?"

She paused, expecting the usual blank stare.

"Irene Coffin?" The man glanced at his records. "Third floor. Room 23." Evy's eyes widened. "I wouldn't count on her letting you in, though."

"Why?"

"Her fiancé arrived a minute before you. He's on his way to see her now."

* * *

Had she been punched upon opening the door on any other day, Irene might have put up a fight. But she'd taken enough metaphorical slugs to the face in the last twenty-four hours. Half conscious, she lay still on the floor as her attacker ransacked the hotel room.

_Run, you lazy git! _

Irene began to half-heartedly crawl towards the door, only to be grabbed and hauled to her feet.

"Where is the Blood Serpent?" The false messenger was a tall, well-built fellow. Brown hair. Attractive but bland facial features. Vague ethnicity. Not much of an accent. A perfectly generic gentleman.

"I think you have the wrong guest?" she tried. "I didn't report any snakes in my room—" _Click. _She nearly went cross-eyed staring at the gun under her nose. "Wait—please! I don't know where it is."

"Then you're useless to me." The man shoved Irene against the wall. He placed a pillow between the side of her head and the barrel of the gun, to mute the sound.

"Wait! Wait!" Irene shook away from him, unwinding the scarf from her neck. The man stared at the trembling image of the snake. "I'm w-wearing it. I don't know what happened. I put it on then… then it became this. I can't get it off! Please don't kill me. _I don't want to be shot in these pajamas_."

The detectives investigating the crime scene would probably laugh at her unfashionable nightdress.

The attacker gave an exasperated sigh. He then poked his head out of the room to make certain the hall was empty.

"Come with me. If you scream, you die. If you talk, you die. If you try to run, you die. Understand?"

She nodded. Gripping her arm and pressing the gun into her ribcage, he led her into the hallway and down a nearby staircase. On the first landing, they passed a woman with long, wavy hair. She smiled and nodded at them. To an outsider, it might look like a husband taking his insomniac wife for a midnight stroll.

"Hurry up," the attacker hissed. "We don't have all night—" His command ended with an abrupt cry. Shoved from behind, Irene tripped down the stairs. The gun went off. She lay in crumpled heap at the bottom of the flight, covering her head with her hands. _Everything hurt. Had she been hit?_

Too scared to examine her body for bullet wounds, she glanced up. Her attacker was scuffling with the woman on the landing above. The gun lay on the steps below them. Ignoring her urge to flee the scene, Irene pulled herself up the stairs and grabbed the weapon.

"Freeze!" It was supposed to be a shout, but it came out more like a whimper. Ignoring her, the two combatants continued to fight hand-to-hand. "Stop it, please!" The attacker got the better of her rescuer, sending the woman tumbling down the stairs with an uppercut.

Panicking, Irene fired the gun, hitting the man directly in the torso. Irene had never fired a weapon before. She hadn't been prepared for the deafening blast. She was surprised by her accuracy. But most of all, she was shocked by her target's reaction to being shot. Rather than falling over or, say, _dying_, the man remained upright. His chest had erupted into a cloud of dust, revealing blackened bones beneath. As she stared in horror, the strange injury seemed to heal itself, leaving no blood, just an untarnished shirtfront.

The ghost laughed.

"Time to go." Recovering from her fall, the woman grabbed Irene by the hand and pulled her down the stairs. Pursued by the ghoulish assassin, they raced through the lobby and exited the hotel. The hotel manager didn't even look up from his papers.

The woman led Irene around the busy street for some time.

"Blood hell, where is Rick?" she muttered. "Hang on, I'm forgetting." She turned to Irene. "Do you have the Blood Serpent?"

"In a sense," Irene grimaced, removing her scarf once more. _Why on earth was she revealing information to this random woman, just like that? For all she knew, this mysterious fighter lady could be in league with the attacker!_ Irene silently struggled to shake off her doubts. Oh,_ stop being so bloody paranoid. After all, she did just save you from the zombie assassin fellow. _The woman's eyes widened as she stared at the strange image, but she said nothing.

"Very well." The woman yanked Irene into an awaiting cab. Before the door was even completely closed, they were speeding off into the night.

"Rick, I told you to hail a taxi, not steal one!" Sounding far too calm for the circumstances, the woman clambered into the passenger seat, leaving Irene trembling in the back.

"I borrowed it!" the man called Rick said, with a laugh.

"You're that couple from the antique shop!" Irene realized, aloud.

"Hi," Rick turned around. He was a handsome, blue-eyed, sandy-haired American. "Rick O'Connell."

"And I'm Evelyn O'Connell." She was beautiful, with dark, rippling hair and pleasant features. Her large eyes held profound intelligence.

"Irene Coffin."

"I'm sure you have many questions."

She was too flummoxed to start with the serious questions—_where are we going, what do you want with me, why the bloody hell did that man's chest burst into sand_—so she started with a stupid one. "What do you two do?"

"Well." Evy smiled. "I'm first and foremost a librarian."

"And I'm first and foremost her husband," Rick laughed.

"You might say that we dabble in archaeology."

Not the responses Irene was expecting. _Married police detective undead-fighting spies, perhaps. _

"Who was the poor chap those strange people were trying kill in the antique shop?"

"Oh, that's my brother. He's an archaeologist as well."

"Or something like that," Rick said.

"You two must think I'm beastly for running away," Irene said, wincing. "I am sorry for that. I should've stuck around to make certain everyone was alright."

"Don't worry about it, Irene," Evy said, kindly. "Treasure hunting makes people do things that they might not do otherwise."

"Yeah," Rick agreed. "Years ago, Evy and I awoke an evil mummy that nearly destroyed the world on a dig in Hamunaptra."

"That's how we first met," Evy smiled, touching Rick's arm.

Irene grinned and nodded, as if that were a perfectly conventional story of courtship. _Charming_. _Hang on, did he just say evil mummy? _She glanced at the cab door. _Was the car moving too fast for her to jump out and land unharmed? Then again, she did just encounter a magical necklace and an undead assassin. Maybe it was all a nightmare. _

When she was a child, Irene had often been plagued by nightmares. They were so realistic, so dark that she would cry out in the night. The tyrant in charge of the children's home would smack anyone making noise in the night, so her older sister Miriam taught her the trick of lucid dreaming. When encountering a nightmarish situation, always try to fly away.

_"Fly away?" she had wondered. Miriam always thought of such strange things._

_"If you _can_ fly away, you'll know you're only dreaming." At time, she was once again awestruck by her older sister's infinite wisdom. _

In the back of the taxi, Irene tried as best as she could to fly away. She concentrated so hard that her rescuers began to look concerned.

"Take a deep breath. It's going to be alright," Evy said, as the cab stopped. Irene obeyed and glanced out the window. They were on a dock, alongside a large, well-lit ferry. The cool, dark Mediterranean water stretched far out into the horizon. "Come to Egypt with us. We'll have this whole thing sorted out in no time!"

_Right. _


	5. Legacy

**1922**

**Valley of the Kings, Egypt **

_She hovered by the steps descending into the tomb. One of the excavators had mentioned that the archaeologists would be moving the mummy today. They'd spent months carefully unwrapping the body, removing it from its numerous sarcophagi. Now, Howard Carnahan and his team were preparing to ship it off to the museum for further analysis. _

_She had read all about mummies. She even saw a few with her parents at the Cairo Museum of Antiquities. But this one would be different. She wanted to see one in the field, not behind a dusty glass case. _

_ Her father was one of the dig's wealthy patrons. Before she was born, he'd met her mum at an Egyptian exhibit in London. After a brief courtship, they were married. Her father whisked her mother off on a whirlwind tour of the world. She'd been born in Hong Kong. She'd traveled through Asia, Africa, and the Mediterranean, wherever the latest archaeological fad took her family. _

_This was her first time in Egypt. Tabloids said that the Valley of the Kings was chock full of treasure and danger. Well, she wanted to get a glimpse of the long dead Pharaoh responsible for cursing them all. That way, when school started again, she could blow all of the other "what I did over my summer holiday" reports out of the water._

* * *

**1934**

**Limassol-Cairo Ferry, Mediterranean Sea**

Jonathan's morning began most unusually: early and sans a hangover. He stared up at the ceiling, which hovered inches above his nose.

Last night, he had been ordered to wait on the ferry with Alex as Rick and his sister scoured Limassol for that silly Coffin woman. After making sure his nephew was situated in the next room with some massive tomes on ancient history, Jonathan had retreated into his own cramped cabin and summarily passed out on the top bunk.

The boat was definitely moving and Evy and Rick hadn't disturbed his slumber. This indicated that the couple had wrested the Blood Serpent from the auction house woman.

Either that, or they had deemed Jonathan too useless for further participation in the search and decided to send him on a free vacation to Egypt with Alex. Poor kid. It was only last year that he'd been kidnapped and dragged around the country by Imhotep and Co. Hopefully he was okay with returning for a second tour (minus the abduction aspect). This would be different, a nice regular trip to Egypt.

Well, _regular_ wasn't the best word to use. If Evy's theories were correct, they'd be up against the usual misguided archaeologists, evil mummies, and other nasty things.

They'd be docking in Cairo soon enough. Jonathan ought to be prepared.

_Fortify_. He refilled his drained pocket flask (yesterday had been a trying day) with something cheap he'd bought near the docks.

_Dress. _He shrugged into the usual pale travel ensemble.

_Shave. _There was a tiny sink and a dingy mirror in the corner. He glanced in at his reflection and was startled by the tired gent staring back.

_You're getting old, old boy. _Jonathan spread the lather across his face and began to scrape it off with a razor. Atop his head, the gray hairs were few and discreet, but present nonetheless. _You're in line for a mid-life crisis, mate. _

Jonathan chuckled.

If conventional wisdom was to be believed, middle-aged men reclaimed their youth by abandoning family life and turning to booze and one-night stands. Perhaps he would do the opposite; ditch the alcohol and the affairs. Marry a nice girl. Have a few kids. Leave a decent legacy.

Legacy? All his life, he'd roamed amongst the legacies of great pharaohs. Monuments of stone: some crumbling, others eternally colossal. They rose above the scorched sand, commemorating archaic seats of wealth and power.

But the so-called archaeologist never gave much thought to his own legacy.

Had he died last night in that embarrassing sacrificial episode, what would he be leaving behind? A loving family? Yes. He did have that, thank God. His wonderful sister and her O'Connell clan would mourn his passing. He'd never admit it aloud, but those three people trumped treasure, even in his greedy mind. He loved them more than anything.

Still, he couldn't help but feel like a complete imbecile when adventuring with them. Rick was brave and strong. Evy was smart and tough. Alex was one sturdy nine-year-old. What role did that leave him with? The not-so-plucky comic relief?

Maybe he would go down in history as an entertaining friend and popular playboy? Jonathan shook his head. Alas, all his chums seemed to disappear the second his finances dried up. And, despite his repeated public insistences to the contrary, his last romance had concluded years ago (with a rather dramatic scene involving a furious Scottish husband, a rooftop escape, and a truckload of chickens).

He was as charming and appealing as ever (in his own mind), but that didn't seem to be enough anymore. At his age, Jonathan simply wasn't concrete enough, in terms of finances, personality, or profession, to be considered attractive.

Perhaps his memory would live on through his career? Would his name remain attached to the discovery of important artifacts and contributions to the academic world?

Jonathan had to smile at that one.

Howard Carnahan would roll in his grave if he ever observed his only son's archaeological misbehavior. That is, if the old man had a real grave. There were twin tombstones in England and a memorial in Cairo, but that inferno of a plane crash had served to scatter his parents' ashes over the dunes of Egypt. They were now one with the sands they loved so much.

_We are morbid this morning, aren't we? _Still in the process of shaving, Jonathan shuffled off to the balcony to clear his head. He leaned on the railing and watched the Mediterranean rolls gray and cool beneath the sunless sky.

* * *

The man was holding some sort of blade. Irene could see it glinting in the pale light of dawn. Why hadn't he used it on her yet? He was lurking on the balcony of the tiny cabin. Probably trying to time his attack perfectly. Or perhaps he was just basking in the thrill of the hunt.

Irene was lying on the bed's bottom bunk of the bed, where she collapsed last night. It was awfully kind of the O'Connells to let her stay in their spare room. Right now, though, she wished that she'd insisted on sharing a cabin as a safety precaution.

She reckoned that she was barely visible underneath the tangle of blankets she'd burrowed beneath. Last night, she'd felt strangely cold.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, Irene slid from her nest.

The assassin on the balcony didn't seem to notice. Right now, she was staring at his back; he was watching the sunrise.

Irene rolled her eyes_. So unprofessional! What, was she so stupid and worthless that she didn't even warrant a good effort from an assassin? How rude!_

They (whoever _they_ were) must've sent an amateur. But underestimating the target was a foolish mistake. Irene Coffin, survivor of previous assassination attempts and wearer of strange tattoos, would not be murdered without a good fight.

* * *

A bold seagull landed on the railing, regarding Jonathan suspiciously. Its wariness was warranted. The flutter of wings awoke the daydreaming Englishman. Jonathan realized that he was nearly hungry enough to consider maritime fowl for a breakfast dish. Instead of giving into this barbaric temptation, he decided to head over to the main dining hall before the army of Yankee tourists (led by Rick, presumably) ate all the food.

He exited the balcony and froze. A woman in a green dressing gown was in the process of slinking out of his cabin. Her blue eyes narrowed with terror and fury. The expression of a caught thief.

"Don't come near me," she breathed.

Bloody hell. It was the Coffin woman. How was that possible? Jonathan considered the situation. Rick and Evy had retrieved the Blood Serpent from her last night. Then, unbeknownst to them, the auction house woman followed them onto the ferry. Now she was attempting to steal the gem back! She was a determined nuisance; he'd admit that much.

"Stop," Jonathan said.

Irene fled the room with a scream. Carnahan gave chase, dropping the razor to prevent bystanders from mistaking him as the aggressor.

What followed was a rather odd dash down the flickering hallway. Desperate to escape, Coffin seized the kitchen cleanup cart from a rather alarmed maid, shoving it towards her pursuer.

Anticipating the move, Jonathan was able to grab and use the wheeled table as an impromptu scooter. He accelerated forward, smashing into the fleeing woman. They both fell to the floor amidst a clatter of broken plates.

Slightly dazed, Jonathan struggled to his feet. Porcelain crunched behind him. Before he could turn around, cold metal was pressed against his neck.

"Don't move," Irene hissed in his ear. Normally, he'd be praying for the O'Connells to show up right about now. But this was rather embarrassing, being overpowered by an inept amateur.

"Do you have the Blood Serpent?" he asked.

"I'll be asking the questions here."

"What are two you _doing_?" wailed the startled maid.

"He's trying to kill me," Coffin shouted. "Go get security."

"Yes, go get security!" Jonathan called after the distraught maid. "This woman's insane!"

"Don't make me kill you."

"Don't make me laugh." Jonathan easily twisted out of her grasp. He nodded at Irene's weapon, smiling condescendingly.

"That's a spatula, love."

Coffin chucked it, hitting squarely him across the chest, before tearing down the hall.

"_Damnit_!"

* * *

Evy raised her eyebrows as Rick emerged from the buffet line with a brimming plate of meat.

"That's a lot of bacon, dear."

"Yes it is," he smiled, taking a seat at their table in the center of the ferry's crowded dining hall. "Don't worry, honey, I'll burn it all off fighting mummies and running around Egypt."

Evy smiled and sipped her tea.

"Did you see Uncle Jon on line, Dad?" Alex asked.

"No." Rick shook his head. "I'm guessing he's still passed out in bed. He was sound asleep when you got up this morning, right?"

"I don't know," Alex said, shrugging.

"Didn't you share a cabin last night?" Evy asked.

"No…"

"Uh oh," Rick muttered.

"You had your own cabin last night?" Evy asked.

"Yes. Why?" Alex looked back and forth, alarmed by the expressions of his parents. "What's wrong?"

"We must've sent Irene to the wrong cabin last night," Evy whispered. Rick stifled a laugh and tried to look worried.

"What are you two talking about?" Alex demanded.

"Last night, we invited the auction house employee, Irene Coffin, to join us on the ferry ride to Egypt," Evy began.

"Why?"

"She put on the Blood Serpent and it did became a magical tattoo or something," Rick said, bluntly. Alex frowned. "It went all Bracelet of Anubis on her." His son raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, I know. It's pretty stupid."

"Cursed Egyptian jewelry is never a good sign," Evy said. "The Blood Serpent has been linked with cataclysmic events and the evil undead. We must get to Egypt quickly and figure out how to proceed."

Shouting and crashing echoed from the far side of the dining room. Waiters and guests alike murmured and craned their necks to see the source of the ruckus, which, from the sound of it, was hurtling closer and closer to the O'Connells.

"Speaking of cataclysmic events," Rick muttered.

* * *

Irene sprang onto the nearest dining room table. Surprised by her own agility, she stood still for a moment, before reaching down to scoop up some cutlery to use as a weapon. The elderly French couple sitting at the table stared up in shock.

Her blinkers were already on. Irene felt vaguely sure that there were other people in the room, but all inhibitions seemed lost in the flood of adrenaline. There was an assassin chasing her. She would defend herself if necessary. Let the tourists gasp and back away in horror.

"Don't move!" Her pursuer hopped onto the table, holding out a ceramic plate like a shield. The thin British man looked and sounded vaguely familiar; Irene had probably glimpsed him discretely stalking her around earlier.

"Don't come any closer!" Coffin waved about what she had hoped to be a pointy fork (it was a spoon). No matter. She would defend herself to the death with a spoon, if things came to that. "This criminal broke into my cabin this morning with the intent of assassinating me as I slept."

"Breakfast is a bit early for the live mystery theatre don't you think?" murmured the elderly Frenchwoman.

"Assassin? You're the one holding the… spoon. Ladies and gentlemen," the assassin said, with the air of an arrogant prosecutor in a show trial. "I give you Irene Coffin, a failed treasure hunter and would-be art thief. This morning, she broke into my room, intending to steal a priceless artifact!" He turned to a few awestruck waiters. "Arrest this thief."

_So, that was his play. Stir up trouble and get her tossed in the brig. A nice isolated place for an assassination. _

"Lies!" Irene pointed the spoon, as a knight might brandish a sword.

"This'll work better, _ma chérie_." Winking, the old gentleman handed Irene up a small knife.

"Thank you, sir." She pointed the knife at the assassin, who cowered behind the plate. "Security! Apprehend this assassin immediately!"

"No! Arrest her!"

"You broke into my room! You ought to be keelhauled!"

"That was _my_ room, you fraud!" he retorted. "And _keelhaul_? What is this, _Mutiny on the Bounty_?"

"For Christ's sake, would the both of you get down?" Irene and her adversary glanced down. Evy stood there, eyes glinting.

"But—"

"Irene, he's not trying to kill you. Jonathan, she's not trying to steal the Blood Serpent." Evy shook her head, disgusted. "No one's getting arrested _or_ keelhauled."

"Actually, pull another stunt like that and I'll consider both." The ferry's captain, an unsmiling Egyptian man with a stern gaze, had wandered over from the captain's table. "No climbing on the tables."

The room suddenly became very quiet.

"Sorry," Irene squeaked. The outburst had left her drained of all audacity. At the present, she wanted to crawl beneath the table and promptly die. She began to wobble, feeling the judgment of all of the eyes in the dining room.

_Get a grip. The only thing more embarrassing than causing a scene like that is to then pass out immediately afterwards. _

"Won't happen again," Jonathan assured him, hopping down. He reached back, helping the dizzy Irene off the table as well.

"Pity!" the Frenchman chuckled to his wife. "That was rather exciting!"

Evy led her brother and Irene back to their designated table. Irene took her seat, blushing. She wanted to bang her head on the table, melt out of her chair, and cease to exist. In that order.

"Morning! Sounds like you two've met," Rick smiled, munching on his breakfast. He seemed rather amused by the whole situation. Unlike his normally calm wife, who looked ready to snap the fork she was bending in her hands.

"For Christ's sake! I cannot believe either of you."

"Oh man. That was great." He raised his cup of coffee at the quarreling parties. "Good morning, everyone."

"Why in God's name did you bring her along?" Jonathan snapped, sitting beside Evy. "She'll try to steal the necklace back!"

"Shut up, Jonathan," Evy said, tiredly.

"Now, see here," Irene bristled at the rude man. "I object to being spoken about in such a manner." A thought struck her dumb. "Steal… necklace… back?" she repeated, staring at her pursuer. He_ did_ look familiar. She felt numb. "Your name is _Jonathan?"_

"Um, are you alright?" Alex asked, concerned by her blank expression and disjointed statement.

Irene simply snapped her fingers, pointing at Jonathan. "Dr. Banning?"


	6. A Lack of Trust

**1934**

**Limassol-Cairo Ferry, Mediterranean Sea**

"Dr. John Banning?" Irene repeated. Her blue eyes were drained of all expression, fixated on Jonathan's grimacing countenance. She fiddled with the loudly colored scarf around her neck. Evy arched her eyebrows, glancing at her brother in confusion. He had failed to mention his disguised escapades in Jerusalem to the O'Connell family. Hey, it got the job done (sort of). Still, Jonathan felt that a full disclosure of the heist would have prompted a lecture from Evy. "That was you?"

"Yes," Jonathan admitted, with a wince. Irene's next move was surprising. No screaming. No hurling of utensils. She simply nodded and reached for the teapot in the center of the table.

"I'm not even going to ask," Evy said. Jonathan endured his sister's withering glance. "Listen, we're all on the same side here. Irene, I apologize for directing you to the wrong room last night." Irene nodded, blankly. "Now, for introductions. You've met Rick. This is my son, Alex." Irene nodded sleepily at the boy. "And you've already met my brother, Jonathan."

"A singular pleasure," she fairly sneered.

"The pleasure was all mine," Jonathan retorted. "I'm always happy to share _my_ room."

"So generous. It's always nice being awakened by a knife-wielding man standing over your bed."

"I do my best to please. I'm sure you're an enchanting bunkmate as well." Jonathan raised his eyebrows suggestively. Not that he planned on courting the silly auction house woman. Being a gadfly was most fun. "You know, when you're not losing priceless artifacts or fleeing crime scenes."

His digs were having their intended effect. Judging by her glare, Irene's blood was boiling as hot as her tea. Slamming down her teacup, she stalked off towards the buffet line, muttering something about a wallet.

Jonathan turned to Rick and Evy, exasperated.

"What the hell are you two thinking?"

"Must've confused the room numbers," Rick shrugged. "Sorry you nearly got killed by a girl with a spoon."

"You're missing my point," Jonathan snapped. "What the hell are you thinking bringing _her_ along? She's a nitwit and she's one of Hackley's lackeys. She's going to try to steal the Blood Serpent."

"Jonathan, she _is_ the Blood Serpent," Evy explained. "There's a golden snake tattoo around her neck—"

"_What_?"

"Remember the Bracelet of Anubis?" Alex asked, gesturing at his wrist. "Once I put it on, I couldn't get it off. This Blood Serpent situation is sort of like that. The necklace has morphed into her skin somehow."

"Is that what she told you?" Jonathan shook his head at the stupidity of his relatives. "I'm surprised at you lot. I thought you were smarter than this. Well, not you, Rick—" His brother-in-law glowered across the table "—but Evy and Alex, how can you believe this drivel?"

"Jonathan!" Evy hissed.

"Have you ever even considered, dear sister, that your new friend may be lying to you? Perhaps Miss Coffin is acting as a distraction for the enigmatic Dr. Hackley. She deposited the necklace with him, visited a tattoo parlor, and is now feeding you magical nonsense while her employer makes off with the necklace."

"It's not a big room!" Irene roared, storming back from the buffet line. Looking hurt and furious, she sat down to eat at the adjacent table instead. "I could hear your entire conversation!"

"See, she's eavesdropping on us already!"

"Are the theatrics back on?" cried the Frenchman sitting a few tables over. Evy noticed the ship's captain glaring at their party and remembered his icy threat about keelhauling.

"Excuse us." She began to pull Jonathan away from the table.

"Wait, I want to make sure no one steals _my_ seat." He deliberately set his hat down to save his chair, with a glance at the fuming Irene.

"Brother dear, why don't you eat some breakfast? Your hunger is making you paranoid."

"I don't see how my suspicions are unreasonable." Cutting the buffet line, he grabbed a plate and began scooping up some runny scrambled eggs.

"Listen, Jonathan, I've been studying dad's notes," Evy said. "The Blood Serpent comes up a lot. According to the legends, her story isn't implausible."

"Old Mum, I think you've been staying up too late with your research."

"Since when have the legends been wrong? We've dealt with plagues of Biblical proportions, a longhaired, half-scorpion gentleman, and those horrible zombie monkeys in the jungle. What makes you distrust this woman so?"

"I don't know…"

"Why, Jonathan?"

"She's…" He began to look rather flustered.

"Exactly like you?" Evy finished with a smile.

"Yes. I mean no! _No_." Jonathan crossed his arms. "I just… I mean, would you trust anyone wearing a silly scarf like that?"

"Yes. Someone tried to kill her last night. She's not blindly loyal to Hackley, she's just trying to stay alive at this point. Try to be courteous." Evy sounded like a snooty etiquette instructor. Jonathan rolled his eyes. "_Jonathan_."

"Fine!" Grumbling, he shuffled back to Irene's table with his plate. "I'm sorry if I offended you. I think we ought to start over." His outstretched hand went unshaken. "My name's Jonathan—"

"Don't worry, I've got it, thanks," Irene smiled, waving dismissively. She retrieved a wallet from her pocket, which she began to rifle through. "So, do I have the pleasure of addressing Dr. John Banning? Or Calloway? Or Carnegie? Who are you today?"

"Jonathan Carnahan," he said, unfazed.

"I would slap you," Irene said. "But your sister saved my life. And I wouldn't want to alarm these Canadians enjoying their complimentary continental breakfast." She gestured at the rather uncomfortable family sitting on the other side of the table.

"Needn't upset the tourists," Jonathan agreed.

"So, I'll have to settle for telling you that you are a slimy career ruining liar."

"Do I detect a flirtatious edge to your insults? Fascinated by the dashing thief?"

"What do you take me for, a stupid school girl?"

"I take you for a woman who can't resist a challenge."

"Well, I take you for a foppish, cliche cad who relies on his family's reputation to buoy him through a useless and unproductive life."

"Like your Dr. Hackley?"

"Perhaps. At least he pays me and doesn't steal my artifacts."

"You're complaining that I tried to steal the Blood Serpent, a cursed relic that's supposedly attached to your neck? Have you ever once considered that I was attempting to do you a favor, you _stupid person_?"

"No."

"I told you about the curse!"

"No, you dressed up in silly outfits and tormented me for months." Irate but somewhat placated, Irene followed Jonathan back to the O'Connell table. "There were better ways of warning me."

"Fine. I'm sorry." Jonathan grinned, seductively. "Maybe I'll take you out for drinks tonight and make it up to you."

"I think I just lost my appetite." Irene turned to storm away. Jonathan never saw the small smile play across her lips. He was too busy smirking to notice the expectant expressions of his nephew and brother-in-law.

"Same here." Rolling his eyes, Jonathan headed back to the O'Connell table. "Is this going to be one of those things where we hate each other and bicker then fall madly in love?" Turning to leave, he slammed his hat on his head. Porridge seeped out of the brim, dripping down his horrified fact. Alex and Rick descended into hysterical laughter

_Ah._ _Perhaps not._

* * *

Irene closed her eyes and scrunched down in her deck chair, trying to look inconspicuous. Following the porridge incident, she had strolled about the small ferry, desperate to avoid the O'Connells. Fortunately, they didn't seem to be seeking her out, either.

Such an awkward situation. It was evening now. Theoretically, Irene could locate Evy and Rick, the couple responsible for saving her life twice, and apologize for her part in the immature squabble. Or she could avoid human contact by pretending to sleep. Yes, that sounded nice. Anyways, Jonathan ought to be the one apologizing; he'd ruined her life, not the other way around. Unless he turned out to be allergic to porridge, in which case she probably owed him an apology as well.

At the moment, however, she felt too tired to even get up. Ever since she (stupidly) put on the Blood Serpent, she felt perpetually drained. The usual eight hours of sleep did not seem as replenishing as they once did. Without her caffeine-laced soda, she'd probably drift off into dreamland.

Suddenly, instincts Irene was unaware she even had indicated that a presence was hovering around her chair. Her bloodshot blue eyes opened warily.

_Bloody hell_. It was that bastard Jonathan, looking far too happy. She tensed. _This couldn't bode well._

"What are you skulking around here for?" Irene asked.

"Me?" Jonathan smiled, strangely. "Oh, I was just wondering if I could get you anything." He waved towards the deck bar. "A beverage, some refreshments?"

"I would rather fancy some porridge, if you've got any on you." Irene reached down and retrieved a glass bottle of soda to show her adversary that she was perfectly capable of securing her own refreshments. Irene snapped the cap off. The fizzing, sugary liquid exploded in her face.

She glanced up. Jonathan was already fleeing, stifling a snicker as he went. Had Alex not approached her at that very moment, she'd have been sorely tempted to smash the shaken bottle into a makeshift shank and pursue the fleeing prankster.

Before she could even nod to greet the boy, Irene was overwhelmed by a most peculiar tugging sensation, starting in her neck. She felt as if the ship's deck was blurring, shapes and colors and sounds swirling around her. Helplessly, she felt herself begin to morph, till she somehow plunged into the confusion, slithering through time and space itself—

* * *

**1323**

**Thebes, Egypt **

_The Pharaoh lay in his bed. Eyes closed, chest moving shallowly. Any passing guard or attendant would say that he was fast asleep._

_But Apep's heavenly vessel had no use for slumber. Around his neck, the image of the snake had acquired an unnatural golden glow. The hissing god's follower was testing out one of his newfound powers. _

_Apep allowed Tutankhamen to project his consciousness into serpents. With practice, he might one day be able to control his subjects in a similar manner. For now, he would have to practice with lower beings. _

_The young king was excited to put his ability to good use. Apep had granted him the gift of omnipresence. Unseen, a serpent could glide along ceiling rafters and slither through pipes. Firsthand intelligence and slander could be collected from the palace's numerous inhabitants, from the lowest slave to the royal family. What better way to infiltrate the snake pit of palace intrigue?_

_In snake form, Tutankhamen slunk into the high queen's exquisitely decorated chamber. His mother reclined on her ornate couch. She was deep in conversation with Ay the vizier. Too distracted to notice the monster coiled behind the statue of Isis in the corner. _

_The queen still retained her youthful beauty, having given birth to Tutankhamen at a young age (as was custom amongst the royal family). Right now, however, her lovely features were marred by a frown._

"_The Pharaoh is a god," she said, sternly. "You are aware than words spoken against him are tantamount to treason?"_

"_Yes, my queen," Ay replied. "I come before you today as a loyal and humble servant. I speak out of great concern for the young Pharaoh."_

_Had Tutankhamen been there in person, he would have had to stifle a gasp. Discussing the Pharaoh in a less than positive light was dangerous, even for the highest-ranking advisor in court. _

_Originally a lowly storehouse scribe, Ay rose to become Egypt's top royal administrator. The Pharaoh wore the crown and held the scepter, but there was no question about who negotiated trade deals and managed the budget. Nonetheless, most royal family members regarded the commoner-turned-vizier with disdain and disgust. The high queen was one of his few allies in court, he would do well not to reprimand her reigning son._

"_You are concerned that my son lacks prudence in governing?" _

"_Your majesty." Ay averted his dark eyes while speaking. "It is more than that. I am Tutankhamen's tutor. I have taught him since he was a child. Recently, I have noticed a… change in his personality. He was always an intelligent, sensitive leader. Now…" Ay sighed. "Now he is different."_

"_Different? How is he different?"_

"_His behavior. For example, in stark contrast with his previously patient demeanor, he now orders servants brutally beaten for the slightest mistakes." _

"_As is his right, as Pharaoh," the queen responded, coldly._

_But the young vizier was not finished. "He torments his wives and younger siblings with his newfound temper." Ay's face was contorted; this conversation was troubling for him. "My queen, the royal librarians have informed me that he has confiscated all of the scrolls regarding dark magic. They lie strewn around his bedchambers. What are we supposed to make of this?"_

_The queen said nothing. When she looked up, her cheeks were striped with tears and black eye paint. _

"_Your majesty, I am so sorry," Ay knelt beside her. "I did not intend to upset you so."_

"_Ay, what can I do? He is my son. He is king. I love him. But this darkness in him, it frightens me. I do not know what to make of this."_

_Tutankhamen sat up in bed. What to make of this indeed?_

* * *

**1934**

**Limassol-Cairo Ferry, Mediterranean Sea**

Rick marveled at his wife as they swayed about the deck dance floor. A few years ago, he was a ne'er-do-well ex-mercenary, slumming about the Middle East. What had he done to deserve such a perfect woman?

Well, save the world from mummies a couple of times. Still, though they had been married for years, he could never fully believe his fortune. And when Anck-Su-Namun stabbed Evy on that sunny day outside the temple at Ahm Shere, part of him died with her. He hadn't been able to protect her. Fortunately, Alex had been there, smarter and stronger than he could ever hope to be. Upon being reunited with Evy, Rick had made a vow. He would never allow her to be hurt again.

But recently, he felt that he was failing in his task. He saw a pain in her eyes, a pain that she would never acknowledge or talk about, not with him, anyway. It flashed every time she mentioned her father's research. What had she uncovered? More importantly, how could he help her?

Well, asking would be a good start.

"Evy, is everything all right?"

"Yes, of course," she smiled. "Well, your dancing could use some work."

He grinned, deflected by her wit. Suddenly, Evy beamed at something occurring over his shoulder. Rick felt someone tap him on the back.

"May I cut in?"

Before he could respond, Evy broke free and threw herself into the mysterious man's arms. He frowned. Why was his wife so eager to dance with this random person? Curious to see his rival, O'Connell turned around.

"Ardeth!" he cried, pleasantly surprised. The Medjai looked unchanged as ever. With his facial tattoos, dark beard, and flowing black robes, he looked rather out of place amongst the waltzing (and bewildered) tourists.

"Rick." Ardeth flashed a rare, dazzling smile, shaking his friend's hand. The first time they had laid eyes on each other, the Medjai chieftain had resigned Rick's fate to the desert. Now, they met as brothers, if not by blood, then by destiny and purpose. "It is good to see you both."

A simultaneously amusing and alarming thought struck Rick. "How the hell did you get on the boat? We're miles from shore."

"I rowed," Ardeth replied. "Quickly," he clarified, noticing the O'Connells' shocked expressions.

"Let's find seats before one of these retirees mistakes Ardeth for a pirate." Evy said. The crowd on the dance floor parted like the Red Sea to allow the fierce warrior to pass through. The trio retired to a table by the railing. "How on earth did you find us?"

"The Medjai are people of the desert, but we have contacts throughout the region," Ardeth explained. "With Imhotep gone, we've been trying to keep tabs on any other suspicious activity relating to dark Egyptian magic. I was informed about the incident with the Set cult in Cyprus. The same report mentioned that your family was traveling to Cairo by ferry."

"Couldn't you have just waited for us on the dock?" Rick grinned.

"No." Ardeth's eyes darkened. "There was no time to wait, I had to come warn you about the situation in Egypt. The Blood Serpent, which I pray is in your possession, is a dangerous object. You are being sought by forces that will shed blood to possess it. We must avoid these enemies and destroy it as quickly as possible. This necklace could bring about hell on earth."


	7. Charades

**1934**

**Cairo, Egypt**

Cairo Police Commissioner Omar Mafdet was a meticulous man. He liked to have things just so; an immaculate uniform; a perfectly ordered desk; an astoundingly efficient filing system.

So when Dr. Boris Hackley magically appeared in his pristine office in a whirl of sand and wind, his inherently neat sensibilities were rather offended.

"Like the new trick, Commissioner?" Hackley held up his hands and took a bow.

For a moment, Mafdet considered snapping at the man, telling him to sweep up his mess and get the hell out. That would have been unwise, however. Best not antagonize the ancient evil snake god's top henchman. So Mafdet folded his hands, eagerly leaned over his desk, and tried not to look at the pools of sand littering the rug.

"What can I do for you today, Doctor?" he asked. Apep had granted his human servant otherworldly powers. At times, there was no trace of anything uncanny about the archaeologist's face. Other times, his eyes flickered into snake-like slits, the tongue forked, and the voice became most inhuman. The once handsome Dr. Hackley was looking more like a serpent every day.

"You can take a few notes, Commissioner." The eyes seemed to have lost their human quality altogether. Mafdet shivered. "I have a job for you,"

"Anything. What does Apep command?"

"Well." Hackley smiled, ruefully. "I have been betrayed. One of my employees, an Irene Coffin, stole the Blood Serpent in Cyprus. Apep's assassins failed to retrieve it, managing instead to murder a whole Set cult and several policeman in Limassol."

Mafdet knew Apep's assassins well; he had even been required to admit a few into his police force. Their youthful visages were lies; they merely masked the faces of long dead mummies. These were Apep's undead soldiers. Unfeeling, unknowing skeletons made to look like men with dark magic.

"Anyways, this idiotic Coffin woman put on the Blood Serpent necklace and somehow triggered its powers with a blood sacrifice. _How_ she managed that is beyond me." Hackley rolled his eyes, which had reverted to their ordinary state. "Right now, she holds all of the necklace's power."

He sounded like a man complaining about a stressful, inconvenient day at work.

"If she steps foot in Cairo, I'll order my men to shoot her on sight," Mafdet offered.

"It's not that simple. She must be captured and taken to Karnak for the necklace to be extracted in a very precise ceremony. The necklace is cursed, you see. At first, it will render her temporarily immortal." The police commissioner mused at the oxymoron. "But after a while, it will begin to drain her life force. Eventually, it'll open up a portal to the Underworld. If that happens, the necklace's power will be lost to Apep."

"We'll have to get her fast, then," Mafdet said, calmly.

"Oh, hold on. I haven't told you the best part." Hackley pursed his lips, shaking his head in exasperation. "She is accompanied by none other than the O'Connell family. All four of them. And the Medjai chieftain."

Mafdet shrugged. The Medjai were a simple desert people, nothing more. And the O'Connells were renowned archaeologists, of course, but he failed to see how such a small group could be a problem. Those tales about their adventures in the desert had to be overblown, at best. "I'll send my best squad. Anyone that steps in to protect her will be arrested or shot."

"Yes, yes you will. Apep needs that necklace to regain strength. Right now, the God of Darkness must devote energy to the undead army in the desert. We must find the Blood Serpent ourselves, to restore Apep to full vigor."

"Of course," Mafdet nodded.

"The name of Coffin's ship is the _Get Hapi_, by the by," Hackley said. "Best set up a perimeter, or whatever you policemen do."

"Right." The police chief quickly dialed his secretary. "Hello, Hadear? Yes, please send out a police boat to intercept the _Get Hapi_… Sergeant Ali's team... Yes, he knows his orders... Thank you."

"I hope Sergeant Ali's team includes a few of Apep's soldiers."

"Of course." Mafdet's smile was rather stiff.

"Do I detect a hint of resentment? Don't forget, Commissioner," Hackley sneered. "If you fail, Apep will not hesitate to raze this modern abomination—your precious Cairo—and engulf her citizens in a burst of fire and ash."

Laughing at this pleasant thought, the paranormal archaeologist closed his eyes and vanished from sight in a burst of sand. Mafdet sighed and pressed his pounding eyelids. He then redialed his secretary. "Hadear? Yes. Could you also bring me a broom?"

* * *

**Limassol-Cairo Ferry, Mediterranean Sea**

"Sorry about my uncle," Alex said, sitting on the deck chair next to Irene. "I told him not to do the soda trick. It's silly and not terribly inventive. I'd recommend against retaliation, though." _Unless you want this trip to disintegrate into chaotic, prank-filled paranoia._

Irene did not respond. Concerned, he noticed that she hadn't even wiped the beverage off her face. Coffin's blue eyes were open and far away, gazing at the darkening sky. Her breathing was shallow. She looked like a woman in a trance.

_Bloody hell. Was she allergic to soda or something? _

"Uncle Jon!" Alex scrambled across the deck, grabbing the fleeing Jonathan by the arm. "Uncle Jon!"

"What's wrong?" his uncle asked, alarmed by the boy's panicked expression.

"I think you've killed Irene," he said, struggling to catch his breath. Jonathan raised his eyebrows, following his nephew. "She's not moving!"

"Probably just trying to scare us…" Jonathan said, nervously. Alex tapped the woman on the shoulder. She promptly slid from her reclining chair, lying in a limp heap on the deck. "Oh God."

"Hey, Irene! Wake up!" The boy became alarmed as his uncle bent down and unwound Irene's ugly scarf. "What are you _doing_?" Jonathan pulled away the fabric, revealing the gold, shimmering snake around her neck. It glowed most unnaturally, rippling across her skin.

"Oh dear… Maybe there is something to the whole Blood Serpent thing after all," he concluded, sheepishly.

"Yeah, no kidding?" Alex snapped. "Irene, are you alright?"

"_Apep will bring chaos and block out the sun's rays!_" Irene's voice sounded most unnatural, simultaneously raspy and booming. "_And the Nile will flow scarlet with the blood of his enemies. His coils will squeeze the life from dissenters._"

"Well, that's an odd thing to say," Alex said, quietly. Along with his uncle, he began to slowly back away. They weren't the only concerned parties in the vicinity, though.

"My goodness!" murmured a stout, expensively dressed woman strolling the deck with her small children.

"_The Snake King has claimed a suitable vessel and returned to the world of the living!_"

"Ha! Good one, Irene!" Jonathan gave a forced laugh. He pretended to double over in laughter, to mask his momentary look of horror. "You know how I love your wacky impressions!"

"_Apep will seep venom into the fabric of reality." _Coffin flailed on the ground alarmingly. _"He will bring about his new world, disemboweling all usurpers with his fangs!"_

"Oh, very good!" Jonathan clapped. "Spot on Neville Chamberlain!"

Alex meant to laugh to go along with the ruse, but it came out more like a worried sigh.

"She really ought to not speak in such a horrible way!" The lady indignantly stormed away, gawking children in tow. "This ferry is a family establishment."

"Just having a bit of fun!" Jonathan called after them. "Sorry, for scaring your kids! No need to call security over a game of charades, ma'am!" He glanced down at the ranting Irene, shielding his face with his hands. "Well, _that_ was embarrassing."

"More than embarrassing," Alex said, rolling over a large wheeled bin containing a mass of used tablecloths and towels. His uncle scooped up the unconscious woman. "_That_ was scary."

"Right." Jonathan gently laid the possessed woman down on the slightly soggy heap of linens. "Let's get 'Snake King' girl the hell out of here before your mother sees her like this and has a heart attack."

"_The Lord of Chaos—"_

"Do kindly shut up." Jonathan slammed down the lid.

* * *

The ghost of a smile tugging on his lips, Rick glanced back and forth between his wife and Ardeth.

"Hell on earth, is that all?" He leaned back, as if taking in an amusing joke. "Okay. We've handled stuff like that before, so why do I feel like I'm being kept in the dark about what's going on?" Rick shot a meaningful glance at his wife. She continued to stare straight ahead at Ardeth. O'Connell noticed that she was toying with the delicate chain of her necklace—the locket of her parents…

"Allow me to explain." The warrior's tone was akin to that of someone giving simple directions to a lost driver. "The Blood Serpent dates back to the Egyptian New Kingdom, far before the time of Imhotep or Nefertiri." Ardeth nodded at Evy. "It possesses an old magic—"

"Capable of ending the world," Rick finished.

"Don't interrupt Ardeth's ominous speech, dear," Evy said, lightly tapping her husband's arm. _Now _that_ sounded like the old Evy._

"It is the seal of Apep, the ancient god of darkness," Ardeth continued. "He is chaotic evil personified. Unleashed, he will raise an undead army and fill their empty graves with the living."

"That sounds fun," Rick said.

"Centuries ago, Apep took mortal form and subjugated Egypt," Evy said, unexpectedly. "The Blood Serpent necklace was his supernatural amulet. It was the instrument through which Apep drained the life source of his victims and brought the dead to life. After briefly ruling the country with an iron fist, he was somehow defeated, dismembered, and scattered to the desert winds. The currently missing Book of the Netherworld contains spells and incantations that were apparently used to strip Apep of his powers."

"Wait, what?" Rick squinted. "How do you know this?"

"My father's research," was her hurried response.

"I believe that Apep has somehow regained strength and returned to human form," Ardeth continued. "The Book of the Netherworld was stolen to partially restore his powers. But he's not finished. He needs the Blood Serpent to become all-powerful once more."

"Well, if he's so all-powerful, then how was he beaten in the olden days?" Rick asked.

"Well, destroying the Blood Serpent will get us off to a good start, but we must discover the ultimate key to defeating Apep, before it is too late," Ardeth said, eyes urgent. "Already, there are murmurs in Egypt about an ancient evil that has seeped into the waters of the Nile."

"And how did the Medjai found out about that ancient evil?" Rick asked. "I thought you guys were just the anti-Imhotep squad."

"Imhotep's gone." Ardeth flashed a rare smile. "We've been trying to branch out. We first learned of Apep and the Blood Serpent through a rumor about activity in the Valley of Kings. Witnesses say they saw the kings rise up and muster before a shadowy figure."

"The _dead_ kings?" Rick said. Evy glanced at him, condescendingly. "What? I'm just making sure…"

"This amassing of supernatural forces corresponded with the theft of the Book of the Netherworld," Ardeth said. "And the expeditions of a certain well-connected British Egyptologist attempting to find the Blood Serpent."

"Dr. Hackley," Evy said.

"Yes." Ardeth nodded. "Too many coincidences, for my taste. However, these pieces of the puzzle were all just that, coincidences. I did not fully realize the severity of the situation till my Medjai warriors faced this undead army in the field."

"Oh no…" Evy whispered.

"There were too many of them. My people were forced to retreat. By the grace of Allah, we were able to escape with few casualties." Ardeth shook his head. "But I fear this shadow god. These undead were difficult to kill. Some of them were made to look like living men. This is deep magic. If Apep is capable of such feats in a weakened state, I shudder to think at what he can accomplish with the Blood Serpent. If you don't mind, I would like to see the necklace now." He stood up and walked away from the table, failing to notice the O'Connells' flustered expressions. "I trust that you are safeguarding it."

"Um," Rick said. "Before we get into that, can I offer you a beverage?" Ardeth politely shook his head. "Are you sure? No drinking on the job?"

"No drinking whatsoever," Ardeth reminded him. "It's not Halal."

"Right." Rick refilled his own glass and poured out some alcohol for Evy. She swirled the liquid around, but did not drink. "Sorry, I forgot."

Ardeth narrowed his eyes. "So, where is the Blood Serpent?"

"I think Jonathan's with it… _her_… now," Evy said, quietly.

"Oh." Ardeth seemed more disturbed by the necklace's appointed guardian than the confused pronoun used to describe it. "When we reach Egypt, we must set out and obliterate this cursed object."

"Have you discovered how the Blood Serpent can be destroyed?" Evy asked.

"I think so," Ardeth said. "There are three sacred ceremonies that must be performed in three different temples across Egypt. Giza, Amarna, and Karnak."

"How do you know that?" Rick asked. Ardeth shot him a meaningful glance, as if to say, _"I'm a Medjai—it's my job to know." _For the first time, Rick noticed how tired his friend looked. Shadows pooled beneath his dark eyes. Ardeth's face had grown slightly haggard. However, as evinced by the giggling young women who kept glancing over, it hadn't wrecked his handsome looks—perhaps his fatigued expression stirred women's sympathies more than ever? "I mean, why those specific places?"

"Well, in ancient Egyptian mythology, Apep is countered by Maat, the goddess of ordered good," Evy explained. "There are major temples of Maat in all three of those places." She looked at her hands. "My father's research includes the translation of a legend that directly connects the defeat of Apep to the temples of Maat in Giza, Amarna, and Karnak."

"Really, honey?" Rick struggled to keep his voice bright and curious. In reality, he was frustrated. Why had Evy not mentioned her discoveries earlier? They were a team. Sure, she often focused on the research stuff, and he was often delegated more physical tasks (read: punching things and running around). The librarian and the mercenary: the queen and the warrior. Still, they shared everything; especially important matters (such as those pertaining to the impending apocalypse).

"I would like to hear that legend," Ardeth nodded. "But first, where is your brother with the necklace?"

As if on cue, Alex stumbled around the corner, looking rather flummoxed.

"Alex! Is everything alright?" Evy demanded.

He nodded, reassuringly. "Oh, yes everything's good, everything's—"

"_The Lord of Chaos will summon the dead from their graves and they will serve him!" _A strange, booming voice rang throughout the deck. _"He shall lead them in battle!" _

"—gone to absolute hell," Alex finished, bleakly.

"Watch your language!" Evy began to sputter. Alex had already turned on his heel. The adults followed as well. "Alex, I will not have you talking like a sailor, I don't care—"

"Evy?" Rick squeezed his furious wife's hand. "Priorities, honey."

Eventually, they came to a stop on the far side of the ship. Rick was startled to find Jonathan there, sitting atop a large bin. He looked equal parts embarrassed and terrified.

"Jonathan, what is going on?" Evy practically gasped.

"She nearly kicked her way out," her brother said to Alex.

"Who—" Evy broke off, staring at the bin. "_Is someone in there_?" She shoved her protesting brother off of the container. Immediately, the lid snapped up, revealing a far-too-happy-looking Irene. She grinned at Evy: a cruel, inhuman smile. "_Blood will rain over Egypt, darkness will reign over mankind!"_ As she spoke, the golden snake around her neck wobbled, glowing against the darkened evening sky. She then paused, yawned, and fainted back into the pile of laundry. The ensuing awkward silence was punctuated only by the murmur of the sea and snores from Irene.

"So. What have _you_ all been up to this evening?" Jonathan tried. He sounded a bit tipsy. Considering Irene's state, Rick couldn't blame him for hitting the bottle. "Hello, Ardeth! Smashing to see you, my dear fellow!"

Rick saw his brother-in-law hide a grimace behind the cheery greeting. He remembered Jonathan's rant about the Medjai a few months back. _"Yes, _of course_ Ardeth's a marvelous fellow! He's splendid! I just think that contacting him over this Blood Serpent business will jinx the whole thing. Once Ardeth's involved, you know the situation is going to hell. His very presence is a harbinger of danger and destruction." _

Either way, the harbinger of destruction didn't look nearly as smashed to see Jonathan. "Hello." He turned to the O'Connells, gesturing at the sleeping figure in the basket. "Who is this woman?"

"That's Jonathan, of course!" Rick hoped a joke would break the tension. All he got was one livid glare from Jonathan. "No, that's Irene Coffin. Our Blood Serpent."

Ardeth murmured something in Arabic, before turning to Alex. "What is it with you English and trying on cursed jewelry?"

* * *

Irene felt safe and warm. Someone was holding her, smelling of cotton and spice. Without meaning to, she nuzzled the gentleman's jacket.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy," she giggled, nonsensically, before opening her eyes. Irene was horrified to discover that the individual holding her was quite the opposite of a fictional romantic hero—Jonathan Carnahan, the all-too-real bane of her existence. Irene wriggled out of his grasp, tumbling to the ground. "What are you doing? Why are we in my cabin?" _Or his cabin, depending on who you asked_. She raised her fists. In her youth, she had accompanied the older kids at the group home to plenty of bare-knuckled boxing bouts. She had probably absorbed a few moves through osmosis. Hopefully, it was enough to take on this blasted artifact pilferer.

Strangely, Jonathan didn't look pleased or aggressive or furtive. He seemed tired and vaguely annoyed.

Somebody coughed behind her. Irene whirled around. The O'Connells were there; staring at her like she had grown a third eye (or, perhaps, a magical snake tattoo). They were all seated about the cabin, looking somber. Outside, the sky was dark over the Mediterranean.

"Hello." The speaker was a swathed in shadowy robes. Irene caught her breath. "I am Ardeth Bay."

"Good evening," she gasped.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Oh, yes! Sorry! I must've just drifted off." Irene didn't notice the O'Connells share a glance of mutual concern. Right now, she couldn't help but act like a breathless idiot. This Ardeth person was stunning. His long, dark hair was as windswept and dark as the nighttime sky. Those deep-set, stern eyes seemed to sparkle with conflicting gentleness and ferocity.

"Ardeth is a Medjai warrior," Rick explained, casually. "His people live in the Egyptian deserts, fighting evil mummies… and stuff." Ardeth's lips broke into a small smile at this introduction. Irene's heart fluttered. _Who's Imhotep? More importantly, is this fine gentleman married or otherwise engaged…_

"How exactly did you get on the boat, Ardeth?" Jonathan's blunt question interrupted her feverish daydreams.

"I rowed." The group descended into impressed silence.

"My name's Irene Coffin, by the by," she clarified. "Nice to make your acquaintance. Making it aboard the boat, very remarkable. Your arms must be so strong…"

"You're sure you can't take that necklace off?" he asked, bluntly. Irene nodded.

"You might say it's really gotten under her skin!" Jonathan said, brightly. This joke earned him a few tired sighs and a sharp jab in the ribs (curtesy of Irene).

"It's very unfortunate looking, isn't it?" she said, sadly. "And I keep having these strange dreams..." Coffin felt everyone's eyes boring into the glowing snake around her neck. "Oh wait, is that significant? I can't remember them too clearly, but they might have involved ancient Egypt." _Experience nightmares involving ancient Egypt after putting on a cursed ancient Egyptian artifact. __Of course the two events are correlated, you blithering idiot._ "Am I going to die?"

Evy patted the girl's arm. "No. We're going to help you."

"Please be honest." Irene struggled to keep her voice from trembling. Evy wasn't meeting her gaze. Not a good sign. "I can take it. Could this necklace kill me?"

"According to the legend my father transcribed, the necklace is cursed. It will grant you immortality… until it effectively drains your life source." Irene nearly threw up her hands in frustration. _Leave it to her to get tangled up in a _lethal_ source of eternal youth. _"Then, it will open up into a portal to the Underworld." _Good, a lovely cherry on top of that garbage sundae. _

"So… I become a portal to the Underworld… and I die?"

"That doesn't sound like something you can just walk off," Jonathan quipped.

"How do we get it off me?" Irene asked, suppressing the urge to throttle her own neck. "How do we destroy it?"

"We can start by going to the Temple of Maat at Giza," Alex said. Evy's head whipped around.

"How do you know about that?" she demanded, sharply.

"Mum, I'm not about to let you hog all of Granddad's research," he replied smirking. "I read the files when you weren't looking."

"Enough deliberations!" Ardeth said, before a family feud could break out. "We can finalize our plan of action in Cairo. We face more pressing dangers right now." He discretely checked outside the cabin door, making certain no one was listening at the keyhole. He glanced at Evy and Rick. "There's a reason I rowed to meet your ferry, rather than await you on the docks. A powerful force has corrupted the upper echelons of Cairo's government, most notably, her police force. My sources in the city have informed me that one Commissioner Mafdet is unusually preoccupied with assisting his good friend Dr. Hackley locate the missing Blood Serpent necklace. Cairo is essentially under martial law. There is a standing order to search and question all individuals exiting and entering the city."

"We're not that recognizable, are we?" Jonathan asked. "We can be discreet." Ardeth scrutinized the group with an incredulous scan. Irene retrieved a shawl from her suitcase, winding it several times around her distinctive neckline. Jonathan tottered, taking another sip from his flask. Evy and Rick exchanged another worried glance. Only Alex looked relatively at ease.

"This group will be instantly recognized. Mafdet's men are on the lookout for you all. And they're prepared for resistance."

"What's the plan, then?" Evy asked.

"You all must sneak off the boat undetected. I can only take one other person in my craft."

"Right." Rick clapped his hands together, a determined glint in his eye. "Let's figure this out. Evy can wear a veil and row with you. Alex can be wrapped up in a rug and sent out with the luggage."

"A la Cleopatra," his son muttered, disdainfully.

Rick stroked his chin. "Let me see... We've got a pretty large clothes basket in our room, someone could hide in that."

"I volunteer to be in the basket!" Jonathan's hand shot up.

"What about me?" Irene asked. Internally, she was fuming. She had really wanted the basket role.

"I'd say we're stuck swimming," Rick said.

"Swimming?" Irene gaped. "In the Nile delta? The water's probably filthy!"

"So's the prison in Cairo." Rick shrugged. "I would know. I've been there. I don't plan on returning."

"At least you don't have to worry about being eaten by Nile crocodiles in jail."

"I wouldn't put anything past those wardens, honestly," Rick sighed. "Listen, if you can't swim, you could always squeeze in the basket with Jonathan."

Irene's face turned positively ashen. Jonathan beamed.

"Hey, Coffin, don't go into denial!" He raised his eyebrows, mischievously. Even Ardeth had to sigh at that one. "Get it? Denial! The Nile? Yeah! Oh come on. I thought that was pretty good!"

"You've been waiting all year to make that joke, haven't you?" Alex muttered.

Irene pointed a trembling hand at the window. As horrible as sharing a basket with Carnahan sounded, it hadn't prompted her terrified expression. A large boat was pulling up beside the ferry. Cairo Police was painted on its side in large white letters, in several different languages. A siren began to wail, calling all passengers to the deck of the ship.

"They've found us," Coffin whispered. Calm as ever, Rick raced from the room, returning as quickly as he had fled. He tossed a large, battered suitcase into the center of the room.

"New plan," he said, calmly. "Alex, hide with Irene. Everyone else—" He tore open the baggage, revealing a glinting pile of firearms. Irene's eyes widened. "Get ready."

Jonathan tentatively picked up a pistol. He glanced at his sister. "You know, Old Mum, the whole police raid is really a brilliant stroke of luck for us. This would've been one hell of a bag to get by Customs."


End file.
